Sleeping Beauty
by Craft Rose
Summary: In order to survive the Dark Lord's reign, Draco Malfoy must find a way to wake Hermione Granger from her self-induced slumber – because with her rests the leverage needed to take the Dark Lord down, once and for all. (Warning: Heavy Violence, Sexual Content, and Coarse Language).
1. Chapter 1

Draco closed his eyes, hearing his mother's parting words ricochet within the walls of his subconscious mind.

_You cannot surrender to the fear, my love. You are strong. You are clever. You will fight for your life using whatever means necessary, and I will return to you when the time is right. _

It had been months since that night, since the night Lucius and Narcissa had been forced to answer for their treason against the Dark Lord. They had barricaded themselves in the Manor, causing a diversion to provide their son with enough time to escape. He had just barely brushed his fingers over the emergency Port Key, when suddenly he heard the bloodcurdling screams of his parents' demise echo from the lower levels.

Draco knew, even then, that he would never see them again, but the promise in mother's voice was the only thing that kept him going. He closed his eyes tighter, placing a blockade over the rush of emotion that clouded his vision. There was no room for tears.

Potter wouldn't have cried.

It was telling, the amount of times Draco thought of his old rival. He could still remember the way each fleck in Potter's emerald green eyes died out as the Killing Curse made contact with his chest. The memory of it sent a surge of unfamiliar sentiment through his consciousness. He had always assumed Potter would turn up victorious in the final showdown, but that was the naivety of ones adolescent mind. It was either kill or be killed and – ironic as it was – _The Boy Who Lived _hadmet with the latter.

Draco could only imagine what that meant for the young woman resting not four feet away from him.

**A/N: I know, I know. I need to quit the fairy tales, but I can't help myself lol. If you're interested in the story thus far, please tell me what you think/what you hope will happen. I will try to post a new chapter every few days/every week. Enjoy! **

**P.S. If you have any questions about this reality vs. the books, just PM me and I'll be happy to answer. **


	2. Chapter 2

The journey to Tuscany had taken longer than Draco would have liked, but that was the price of traveling via public transport. His whereabouts had been kept secret for the past three months. There were Death Eaters assigned with just the task of searching for him, and bringing his head to the Dark Lord. The bounty was high, and it was all down to one thing – the only thing with which his parents had entrusted him.

Draco proceeded into his countryside villa with a bag of groceries from the nearby market. Before the past few months, he had never touched an ingredient that hadn't already been prepared into a gourmet meal. It was a bit of an adjustment – having to cook, clean and take proper care of himself without his mother and father's help – but he had no choice.

This world wasn't at all similar to the one in which he had been raised. There was no room for error, which meant he had to be ready to leave his hideaway within a moment's notice. Thankfully, there had not yet been any such complications. He figured the Death Eaters were still following the false trail he had left through the Netherlands, but it wouldn't take long for them to catch wind of his current location. He was posing as an American author of Muggle literature, using the lush lands of central Italy for inspiration in his latest piece.

Somewhere deep, deep down, Draco had always wanted to write, but his obligations as heir to the Malfoy dynasty had always thwarted such hopes and dreams. He used his time in hiding to do some real method acting, and went so far as to writing several chapters of a memoir. It was untitled, thus far, but provided him with more comfort than was comprehensible. It was his only outlet. He occasionally spoke to the townspeople, but even then it was small talk in the marketplace or on his way back to the villa.

He couldn't remember a time in his life in which he had been left completely and totally alone – not like this.

Draco poured himself half a glass of vino – sangiovese, to be exact – and took a seat on the deck. The villa had a gorgeous view of the marketplace, cradled by greens and country roads. Malfoy Manor had been enormous and filled with costly, stylish décor but the surrounding land was nothing in comparison to the sight before him. He took a sip of wine and savoured each and every flavour. It became customary for him to have a drink before and after dinner, and almost every other meal. Sometimes it was two drinks. Sometimes four.

The young wizard figured it was bad judgment to obscure his senses with alcohol, but the loneliness was beginning to chip away at his once rock solid conviction. He was playing the waiting game, and Draco Malfoy was notoriously known for his impatience. He had never waited for a thing in his life, and, slowly, his attention shifted to the interior of the villa. It had two bedrooms – one master and one guest. He took up residence in the guest bedroom, and saved the larger, ornately decorated master bedroom for a young woman who held all the answers. Draco set down his stemware, now empty, and proceeded to the room in question. The shutters were closed, allowing only tiny slivers of sunlight to illuminate the petite, unconscious figure resting atop the four-post bed.

She had rendered herself unconscious shortly after the Dark Lord defeated Harry Potter. Lucius had found the girl, in her childhood bedroom with no parents in sight. Draco figured she had coaxed them into leaving with the help of magic, and wished he had done the same for his, but it was too late for that. His father had brought the girl back to the Manor, with the intention of handing her to the Dark Lord as payment for their treason, but he later changed his mind…upon Narcissa's request.

_So long as the Dark Lord lives, there will only be more death and destruction…_

Draco closed his eyes, feeling the words tear a hole through his heart. He knew what had to be done, and although it would be immensely difficult, it was the only way. He couldn't live with his mistakes any longer. He had to put an end to the Dark Lord's madness, and protecting Hermione Granger was the first step in doing that.

He inhaled, catching scent of lavender with notes of honey and almond and some mint. _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. _But there was no use in willing her awake. There was some strong magic at play, and his job was not only to protect her, but wake her from the slumber in which she had cleverly used as a shield.

There was pain in his hands, and it was only then that Draco realized he had balled them into fists. He took several deep, calming breaths and opened his eyes. She was still there, unconscious as ever, with her hair falling to her sides in wild, chocolate brown spirals and in a set of comfortable, functional Muggle clothes. To that very day, he had never touched her, using only magic to lift her and wash her and nourish her. Part of him wondered the true intention behind her self-induced slumber. Had she done it as a way to keep her secrets hidden, or as a way to numb the pain of so much loss?

It kept him up for hours, just thinking of what could have possibly crossed Granger's mind during those final moments.

Draco sat on the chair adjacent to her bed and watched as her chest rose and fell, in a slow, borderline hypnotizing fashion. He had spent so much time loathing this girl and everything for which she stood, and it was now his duty to defend her when the time was right. It was all so…strange. He sometimes wondered what would have happened, had he fought for their side. He had, in fact, played a pivotal role in the Second Wizarding War. It had been him to permit the Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts in his sixth year. It had been him assigned with the task of killing Albus Dumbledore. It had been him to take the Dark Mark and wear it with pride. But what the public didn't know was that none of that had been his choice or even the choice of his parents.

It was either join Voldemort or be killed.

There was a sharp pain in his chest at the memory of his initiation. It was a short ceremony, with only the Dark Lord and his Aunt Bellatrix, but nothing had hurt him more than waking up everyday knowing Voldemort's mark was permanently etched into his skin.

Draco didn't dare look upon his left forearm. The mere sight of it brought anguish, and with anguish, or any strong emotion, his spirit weakened. He merely sat there, watching and waiting for any sort of sign or hint. It wasn't a matter of cleverness. It was a matter of retracing the steps of the labyrinth that was Hermione Granger's mind, and even he hadn't the ability to do that. She may have been Muggle-born, but Granger was damn near the smartest witch he had ever known, and would never let know.

He rubbed the fatigue from his face and decided it was time to get a start on dinner. The food wouldn't cook itself, and the rate in which his stomach had been roaring and rumbling with hunger was beginning to drive him insane. Draco stood from his chair and proceeded to the door. He gripped the brass handle and threw one glance of his shoulder to check if Granger was still in one piece. It made him feel old, like some sort of parent checking up on their newborn child every five seconds, but it was his only way of knowing she was all right.

Resigned to his own fate, the young man twisted the doorknob open and just barely stepped foot in the corridor, when suddenly the front door to the villa slammed open.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first official chapter, and please don't forget to leave a review xo. **

**p.s. The next chapter is longer - much, much longer. I promise. **


	3. Chapter 3

Draco slipped into the shadows of the corridor. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a gorilla in captivity. He could hear footsteps. The harsh echo of each stride was enough to confirm his worst fears. It had to be a Death Eater, but not just any. There were few things in the world that terrified him more than the Dark Lord, and this particular trespasser most certainly fell into that category.

He peered around the corner, and spotted the mangy creature that was Fenrir Greyback, perusing through the kitchen and living area. The wicked werewolf emitted a low, guttural growl from his pursed jaw. Draco watched, feeling his hands shake and his stomach clench. He instinctively reached for his wand, and prepared for the onslaught.

"I can smell you," Greyback snarled, tightening his claws into fists. "Come out and play, little Malfoy. Say hello to your Uncle Fenrir."

Draco swallowed hard, forcing down the vomit that threatened to escape. He didn't know what happened. He had protected the villa with countless charms and the strongest, darkest magic known to wizard-kind. Greyback was definitely one of the Dark Lord's most loyal lapdogs, but he wasn't apt in the practice of magic. There had to be something else at play.

The werewolf smirked something vicious. "I can smell her, too." He turned on the heel of his worn boot and faced the corridor. "I wonder if she'll taste as good as your mother."

It was like waving a thick, bloody steak in front of a ferocious Rottweiler. Draco tried to hold back – he really did – but the memory of his mother's final screams thrashed through any and every shred of restraint that remained. He turned the corner.

Greyback smiled. "Come. Sit down. We have loads of catching up to do."

"How did you find this place?" Draco demanded.

"Cut the hard act," scoffed the Death Eater. "You may sound like a man. You may even look like a man. But the fear in your eyes gives you away, little Malfoy."

Draco felt each and every muscle in his body seethe with hatred. "I fear nothing."

"You fear him."

"I fear nothing," Draco repeated. "Especially him."

The werewolf laughed, slapping a hand on his hairy, exposed chest from the hysteria. "If that were true, you wouldn't be running and hiding like a little schoolgirl."

"I suppose they don't teach strategy in the dog pound."

Greyback stiffened. "Bite your tongue, boy. I would kill you right here, right now, if it weren't for your Aunt Bellatrix."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "What does she want?"

"She wants you alive. She wants the Dark Lord to forgive you for your parents' sins."

The fair-haired wizard thought back to his last moment with Bellatrix Lestrange. She had urged Narcissa and Lucius to plead forgiveness. She wanted the clan to stand united. But their minds were already made. It had been Draco to escort his Aunt off the premises, for her own safety, just before the attack. He secretly wondered whether or not Bellatrix had been part of it, and if Greyback's claims were simply the product of survivor's guilt.

He then remembered one fundamental piece of information: Bellatrix wasn't capable of guilt. "What does she really want with me?"

The werewolf laughed again. "Clever boy." He flexed his gargantuan arms. "She wants the remainder of your parents' fortune."

"Let me guess…" Draco twisted his mouth, disgusted. "She promised you a percentage, and that's really why you're here."

"Clever, indeed." Greyback took a step forward, inching closer. "I was asked to keep you alive – and I will – but I made no promises for the girl. Tell me where she is, and I'll let you keep your legs."

Draco extended his wand arm. "Back away."

"What is this treachery? You were born to fight for the dark side, little Malfoy. Your parents made a mistake and paid the price, but you do not have to follow their footsteps."

"I won't," he assured the werewolf. "I will succeed in taking down the Dark Lord's numbers, and I have every intention of starting with you."

Greyback stood taller, if that were even possible, and huffed with a feral sort of temperament. "So be it," he challenged, cracking his knuckles. "Aim high. Aim true. If you miss, I will force feed you the girl's flesh in a stew."

Draco narrowed his eyes. He had never felt so full of courage in his life. He figured this is what Potter felt like, on his little journeys every year at school. There were times in which Draco yearned to join the Gryffindor clique on their adventures, and experience what it was like to really, truly _live _but he had now done his fair share of that.

He pointed his wand directly at Greyback's chest and waited several long, nerve-wracking moments, before switching his aim to the light fixture overhead and shouting an incantation. The next second moved in slow motion. A magical current coursed through Draco's wand and emerged from the tip in a bright beam of energy. It connected with the light fixture, and drove it straight over Greyback's head.

The werewolf howled in agony, but his recovery was quick. He emerged from the broken fragments on all fours and chased the young wizard into the corridor. Draco barely made it into the master bedroom, slamming and locking the door shut with just enough time to put his plan in motion. He hastily rummaged through the drawers in Granger's side table and found a single silver locket marked with the letter _M_.

"Got you!" Greyback burst through the door, breaking it down in a cloud of dust and splinters. He launched forward and tackled Draco to the hardwood floor.

It was clearly an uneven match, but Draco put up a damned good fight. The last living Malfoy dodged and weaved and escaped Greyback's clutches, with his robes torn from all ends. He could feel hot blood pulse from the gash on his forehead and knew it looked just as bad as it felt.

The Death Eater furiously growled, grabbing a handful of Draco's hair and pounding his head against the wall.

He was seeing stars. The world was closing in, but Draco would allow no such thing. The young man practically crawled to the heart of the action and grasped Greyback's leg – hard. His opponent shook him off, flinging him to the other side of the room, into the door wreckage.

Draco could do nothing else but watch as Greyback ran to the bed, like feeding time at the zoo. The werewolf released an echoing howl and gripped Granger around her neck, lifting her from the bed. He slowly choked the life out of her, having the audacity to look back and smile.

"No…" Draco breathed, struggling to stand. "Stop. No."

The blood was pooling around him. He had earned several new cuts and bruises and gashes. He could barely think, let alone walk, but there was no choice in the matter.

His eyes darted in every direction. He couldn't look. He just couldn't look. It was everything he had worked for, everything his parents had worked for, slipping away like grains of sand through Greyback's fingertips.

"I warned you," Greyback taunted, tightening his grip and looking back at Granger. "Now watch her die…you backstabbing, conniving, little – _AH_!"

There was a rush of green light, traveling from deep in Draco's core, through his left arm and into the unfamiliar wand held shakily in his weakening hand. He delivered a curse, but he did not know which one, and felt the ricocheting impact of it, as it collided with Greyback's chest and sent the werewolf flying into the ceiling. Both men fell with a giant thud, filling the room with a haze of debris.

Draco groaned in pain, hearing Greyback's growl, and using whatever energy he had left to shift further and further away. He moved to the bed, feeling a cold metal chain under his palm, and heaved himself up. The dust was beginning to settle, which meant he had no time left.

"Not so fast, boy!"

There had been a moment in Draco's life; wherein the worst pain he had ever experienced had been multiplied. It was when that wretched Hippogriff had taken a bite of him in the middle of Care of Magical Creatures class, and he still felt twitchy thinking about it. But that pain had since been multiplied into the thousandths.

The young wizard shouted for his life. It was agony. It was pure agony. He slammed his body over Granger's and felt Greyback's claws dig into his back. It felt as though he had ripped out Draco's spine and wore it as a necklace. But, alas, the boy was still kicking.

He had heard of that rush of adrenaline people got in a moment of serious panic or danger. He had heard of it, but never believed it – not until that very moment.

Draco shoved the mammoth from his being, and just barely grabbed at the small, slender arm of Hermione Granger – where the world _Mudblood _was still scarred – before penetrating the supernatural phenomena that was Apparition.

He closed his eyes, praying to every deity known to man that they would open again. Apparition required concentration from beginning to end, and his consciousness was slipping away with each passing millisecond. His mind was numb with stress and worry. His body was covered in blood. He knew the end was near, but didn't allow himself even an ounce of release. His laziness had been the cause of Greyback's attack. There was too much at stake. He couldn't risk it. He had to stay alert.

He had to stay vigilant.

But it was too late. Everything blended into a haze of blackness. He was failing. He couldn't hold on any longer. He thought of his family, feeling a sense of relief at the possibility of seeing them again, but it only lasted one short, fleeting moment, before Draco felt something he never knew he had craved so damned much.

Granger's hand squeezed back.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review. **

**xo **


	4. Chapter 4

There was an old tale in the magical world, titled _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_, wherein three witches embark on a journey to achieve their truest desires. It was controversial to the Pureblood community, given that one of the central characters, a witch named Amata, had married a Muggle man, but Hogwarts had always been accepting of inter-blood alliances. Lucius Malfoy hadn't been so accepting, and went so far as to writing Headmaster Albus Dumbledore about removing this particular tale from the corridors. His efforts had obviously proven useless against Dumbledore's beliefs, and Lucius had since harboured intense distaste for the Headmaster.

His son, on the other hand, quite liked the story of the three witches. It was different from the other tales. It painted the magical world with an unusual brush stroke, and showed that magical talent was ultimately inconsequential in ones search for happiness and belonging.

Draco had grown up bearing those morals close to his heart. During his time at Hogwarts, he had obviously taken the guise of the son his father had always wanted, and part of him quite liked the freedom of being Lucius Malfoy's son, but it wasn't what was in his soul. Before Hogwarts, it was as though he had been a different person entirely. He had suffered a great deal. He had yearned to meet his father's expectations, and when the raw magical talent that came with the Malfoy name didn't immediately radiate from his fingertips…Draco had struggled.

His parents kept that part of his life a secret from the others. It was shameful, to them, having a son that didn't show the magical capability of a normal boy his age. They had taken him to numerous specialists and went so far as to have him see a shaman from somewhere in the Middle East. Draco wasn't like the other kids. His development had been slow, and grueling, and most specialists told Lucius and Narcissa that he would not be able to join his friends at Hogwarts. _He isn't ready_, they had said. _He does not have the ability. _

They feared the worst for him, wondering if perhaps he was a squib. But it was on his ninth birthday that one Albus Dumbledore paid the Malfoy's a visit, and informed them of his own similar history. It was merely a case of slow development, and it could be helped.

It was strange for Draco, listening to this curious, bearded man go on about something he wasn't supposed to understand, but in Dumbledore's puzzling words…he found comfort. His parents had regrettably ignored the old man's advice and admitted their son into the Institute, for magical development. It was like psychiatric ward for magical patients. He spent months upon months there, getting poked and prodded, until finally a grand total of forty-eight months – two years – had passed and Narcissa arrived with his bags in her hands and a smile on her face.

_Your letter arrived this morning_, she told him. _You're officially a Hogwarts boy!_

It was amazing. It was…the closest thing to triumph Draco had ever felt, and he had readily packed his things for the next chapter of his life. But it didn't take long for that skip in his step to turn a corner. He developed an edge, an amount of arrogance, and soon that young boy had vanished – and in his place stood the Draco Malfoy everyone had grown to know and despise. He had become his father's son, overcompensating for his previous struggles with bullying and harshness.

It was like his past had never happened, and for a long while he convinced himself it hadn't.

But the reminder of Albus Dumbledore's visit had always clawed its way back in, no matter how hard he tried to forget. Draco would remember the Headmaster's words of wisdom, and think back to _The Fountain of Fair Fortune. _

Nobody knew that part of his life, apart from his parents and the late Albus Dumbledore. He had somehow managed to keep it a secret from even his closest friends and most trusted allies, but somewhere along the line, his struggles came full circle.

Draco's eyes blinked open – vision blurred from fatigue – and for a moment, he wondered whether or not death had taken him. Everything was dark. His thoughts were scattered in a million different places at once, and the lack of sensation in his chest grew with each fleeting second. He parted his chapped lips, allowing a chilling gust of air to travel down his throat and into his lungs.

But…something was wrong.

He could feel something. He could feel something bind his wrists, in an almost painful fashion. He can't have been dead. It was impossible to bind a ghost – or for them to breathe. Draco pressed his eyes shut, resisting a blinding light, as it inched closer and closer to him. He couldn't see a thing. He turned his head to the side, and only then realized he was bound to a bed of some sort.

"Stop struggling," spoke a familiar voice. "You're going to hurt yourself."

The young wizard groaned in pain. The numbness was gone. He could feel it. He could feel all of it, and suddenly the memories came flooding back. He had been hurt, and the pain in his forehead and back pulsated with brutal purpose. The murderous look in Greyback's eyes slammed down on Draco's consciousness, like images on a stereoscope.

He pulled against the straps that bound him to the bed, and felt something he hadn't felt in ages. It was like he was nine years old all over again, and his parents had left him at the Institute to rot away. That's when the panic came over him, like a tidal wave. Draco balled his hands into fists and pulled harder, grinding his teeth together as the energy in his body began to deplete.

"Get me out of here!" he cried. "Get me out! I can't be here!"

"Stop!"

A pair of hands held him in place. They were small, but not like a child. He inhaled, startled at the familiar scent that hovered around his nostrils. The air smelled of lavender mixed with honey and almond and…mint. Draco opened his eyes, dumbfounded.

"You need to heal," Granger told him, combing a few strands of her wild chocolate curls behind her ear. She held a slim, white candle in her hand, and looked at him with those big brown eyes.

Draco swallowed hard. "Where are we?"

"You tell me," she challenged. "You Apparated here."

The missing pieces fell into place. He glanced around, using the light from her candle to identify his surroundings. His worst fears had been confirmed. Somehow, in the heat of battle, Draco had thought of the one place he had never wished to return.

"The Institute," he breathed, visualizing the barren building as it once stood.

It was a large, rectangular building made of stone, with barred windows and the whole nine. Draco closed his eyes and felt his heart beat right out of his chest. He was a young boy. He was trapped there. He had to learn magic. He had to make his parents proud. He had to escape. He had to escape. He had to escape.

His lips quivered. "I have to escape."

"What? No." Granger set down the candle on his side table. "We have to stay here until you're healthy."

He knew she was speaking to him, but her words were muffled against the thoughts running through his mind. "You don't understand…" A silent chill traveled the length of his spine. "I _have to _escape."

Granger paused. Her eyes were wide with worry. "What is it about this place that terrifies you?" she inquired. "Apart from the obvious scare factor of an old, run-down, abandoned building."

"It's not abandoned," Draco interjected. "The workers were killed during the war, for helping the developmentally challenged."

The worry had left her eyes, and instead there was realization. "This is the Institute," she deduced, right on cue. "I read about this place…but…I didn't know it was _like this_."

Draco shared her sentiment. He, too, had been appalled with the place his parents had sent him. It was supposed to help him, and it ultimately did, but it hadn't been the rewarding, learning environment his parents had promised. It was torture.

His body began to tremble at the mere memory of his experience.

"Hey, it's okay. You're fine." Granger lifted the bandages from his forehead and set them aside, in a bowl of liquid. "I just need to change these and you can go back to sleep."

"Why are you so calm?" Draco blurted, eyes planted firmly on the young woman in front of him. "Shouldn't you be…afraid of me?"

She ignored his questions for the first few seconds and instead replaced the bandages on his forehead with new ones. Her movements were slow and precise. "I'm afraid of nothing," Granger finally answered. "And I would not have woken had you wished me any ill will."

Her words hovered in the air between them. Draco thought to himself, and realized what had happened. The pain in his body – particularly his back – grew tenfold. Greyback's attack was still fresh. He had done everything he could to make sure the plan did not deter from its course – and in doing that he had saved Granger from the werewolf's clutches. That was all it took. It wasn't a matter of performing the right spell, or reciting the correct incantation.

It was trust.

It had always been trust.

The young man felt his insides swirl together. He watched as Granger tended to his wounds, blinded by the sight of seeing her up and moving. He had spent months fortifying the barrier that kept her safe from the outside world – thereby protecting the key to defeating the Dark Lord, the key his parents had handed him before their passing – and in all that time he had protected the girl with a sense of allegiance towards his parents and doing what was right.

But for the first time, he questioned whether there had been more to it. The jagged wounds all over his body sustained those doubts, and rendered him silent.

"You need to turn around," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I – I need to replace the bandages on your back."

Draco raised both eyebrows, wincing slightly from the pain of doing so. "You can't just use magic?"

"No wand," Granger explained, unbuckling the straps that bound him. "You had one in your hands when you Apparated us here, but I had to get rid of it. I knew it wasn't yours. It was too…erm…."

"Ugly?"

"Yes," she agreed, rather quickly.

Draco thought back, remembering the moment he had grabbed Greyback's wand and cursed the Death Eater into oblivion. The lot of it had happened in the space of a few seconds, but it played back in slow motion. "You did the right thing," he acknowledged. "By destroying Greyback's wand, I mean."

"Greyback," the brunette repeated. "As in, Fenrir Greyback?"

He nodded.

"You defeated Fenrir Greyback?"

Draco frowned. "I don't know how, so don't bother asking."

A hint of a smile tugged at the ends of Granger's lips. "I won't," she assured him. "Now turn over before that wound festers."

The young man reluctantly did so, groaning in pain from having to move. He was in worse condition than he thought. It was a bit embarrassing, but there was no room for pride. There was a job to be done, and as soon as he was up and walking…he would get back to it.

"How are you doing this without magic?" Draco thought out loud.

Granger made a sound, as though she were stifling laughter. "You Pureblood folk are too reliant on your wands and cauldrons." She removed each bandage from his back, slower than before. "There were some supplies left in this place, and I've taken my fair share of First Aid courses."

"I won't even ask what that me – _ouch_!" He bit down on his bottom lip, tasting blood. "Damn, that hurts."

His makeshift nurse giggled to herself, undoubtedly enjoying the experience of inflicting even a little pain in him. "Sorry," she apologized, voice drenched in mock innocence. "I'll be more careful."

He rolled his eyes; thankful she couldn't see his face. "How long before we can leave this place?"

"I'd say…a few more days," she advised. "Your wounds are still quite fresh. I need to find some more stitches before we move onward."

He ignored the gibberish and continued. "That's too long of a wait. They'll find us by then."

"Who are _they_, exactly?"

"Death Eaters," Draco answered, feeling something burn along his left forearm, at the mere mention of the name.

Granger's breathing changed. She seemed…unsettled. "It's just you, isn't it?" she asked. "You – You've been alone all this time, haven't you?"

He didn't know what to say. She was right, but the reality in her words left him speechless. The young man closed his eyes. "It hasn't been that long," he clarified. "About a year since the Battle of Hogwarts."

"And in that time you've…changed sides?"

"Yes," he confirmed, knowing this conversation would have to take place sooner or later. "My parents, as well."

"Where are they?" Granger inquired.

Draco pushed down the urge to vomit. He hadn't yet spoken the truth out loud. If he did that, then it was real. "I'm alone in this," he answered, swiftly avoiding the reality of the situation. "I've been alone for the past…three months."

There was a veil of silence in the room. It was unusual for Hermione Granger to bite her tongue, but not exactly unheard of. He was sure she had plenty to say, but respected her for giving him the space he needed. There would be time for her to find answers. But for now…there was only one thing they had to worry about.

"I suppose you want to know where it is," she suddenly said, voice trailing off as though she had traveled to a different reality.

"I do," he admitted. "I need to know, in order to finish what my parents started."

Granger rolled down his shirt, as a way of informing him she was done. She waited until he turned around before responding. "Did they find me?" she asked. "Your parents?"

Draco nodded. "It was my father."

"How did he know where to look?"

The fair-haired wizard shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine."

She digested his statement. "I – I want to help," Granger started, looking troubled. "But I need to know something, before we progress any further." Her eyes met with his, and it was only then that he noticed they were glazed with tears. The composure had left her being. "Is – Is there anyone left?"

There were few moments in Draco's life, wherein he wished to remove the grief in someone's soul and bear it in his own – and this moment happened to be one of them.

"No," he answered. "...Just us."

**A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter - means a lot. I know the story is a bit confusing, but it will make sense soon enough. In the meantime, tell me what you think in a review. **

**xo**


	5. Chapter 5

The ground was coated in frost. It was a cold morning, the coldest morning of the past six years, but Hermione Granger didn't know that. She had spent a total of three hundred and sixty-seven days in self-induced slumber, and her only concern was putting an end to the relentless growl of her stomach. Hermione ignored the cold, wearing the torn, black cloak she had retrieved from Draco Malfoy's pale form. It was stained in blood and dirt, but it was the only thing she had to shield her from the elements.

It would snow. She could feel it in her lungs; the way the frostbitten air traveled down her neck and through her body. There was something she had always found fascinating about the changing of seasons. It was one of the great pleasures of living in a place that experienced summer, spring, autumn and winter. As a child, she loved seeing the leaves turn colours and watching snow fall from the sky – but her most favourite phenomena was the smell of flowers in mid-May. It reminded her of summers in West Country, with her grandparents and cousins.

Hermione took a deep, deep breathe, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and traversing the grounds surrounding the Institute. She was searching for dry wood, to make a fire, but everything was moist from the weather. It was still too early in the day.

Resigned, the young woman jogged back into the building and up the stairs, until reaching the room she had prepared for her former rival. She stood by the door, peering into the room through a narrow slit. He was there, but he hadn't yet noticed her. His eyes and face looked worn, and the way he winced meant he was still in a considerable amount of pain. Hermione wished she could have seen the attack, for reasons she did not know.

They hadn't properly spoken since the previous night. She had swiftly exited the room and prepared one for herself, leaving him to his own devices. There was something brewing in the atmosphere, and neither of them knew what it was or why it was there, only that it intensified whenever they were together.

"Are you going to come in, or stand there like a stalker?" Malfoy inquired, shooting a glance at the door.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. She swallowed, and entered the room with her nose in the air. There was no chance in hell she would allow him to one-up her, no matter the circumstances.

He smirked. "Find anything good out there?"

"Not yet," she answered, taking a seat on a rusted chair. The Institute itself wasn't in terrible condition. Most of the damage was from the battle that had ensued following Voldemort's victory against the Chosen One. The pipes were still in tact, which meant water was plentiful, and most of the canned goods were still edible. "How are you feeling?"

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. His facial muscles strained every time he moved. "I'm all right."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to put up a brave front."

"Says the Gryffindor," Malfoy teased, sitting at the edge of his bed. "Pardon my manners. I'll stick to being cunning, resourceful and ambitious."

"You forgot pretentious and narrow-minded," Hermione added.

The young man stared at her through the corner of his wintery grey eyes. His demeanor had hardened. "I liked you better when you were unconscious."

The brunette narrowed her vision. "Then maybe you should've let me stay that way."

"You're right," Malfoy decided, slipping his boots on and struggling with the laces. "I should've let Greyback tear the flesh off your bones."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. "You're insufferable."

"Get over it, Sleeping Beauty. You're stuck with me."

"_Don't_ call me that."

He huffed, chucking his laces with frustration, and glanced at her. "What? Don't call you Sleeping Beauty?"

The witch nodded, pursing her lips. "It's demeaning."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "The implication that I find you beautiful is demeaning?"

"No," she answered smartly. "The implication that I'm some damsel in distress, in need of Prince Charming is demeaning."

"You are so jaded," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione turned away. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the intricacies of feminism."

"I don't," furthered the wizard. "But I do see you as an equal, if that's what you wanted out of this…debate."

There was no point in arguing. Being seen as an equal was probably the closest thing to a compliment she would ever get from him, and she had no choice but to accept it. "If – If we're going to work together, I would prefer you call me by my given name."

"Fine." Malfoy gave another go at his laces. "Back at you."

Her gaze shifted to his boots. She watched his weak hands struggle to tie up some simple knots. "Here – let me." Hermione innocently strolled to his side of the room, before kneeling down. She made sure to keep her attention directly on the laces, knowing he was staring down at her with that curious look about his eyes. "There."

He leaned back on his arms, and gave her a once over, as she stood on both feet. "Thanks…Sleeping Beauty."

Hermione gaped. "You're an arse."

"She curses, too!" he laughed. "Relax. I'm only joking."

The young woman turned her back to him and made way for the door. She was in no mood to deal with his constant digs. Part of her had assumed things would change between them, given their current situation, but he was still the same arrogant arse from Hogwarts. Hermione had never felt so disappointed in him.

There was a sound from behind, as though Malfoy had attempted to follow her. "Cut me some slack," he reasoned. "This is the most human interaction I've had in the past three months. Italian villagers don't count…mostly because I don't speak Italian."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. "Italian villagers?"

"Yes," he nodded, grabbing the wall for support. "We were in Tuscany when Greyback found us."

She raised both eyebrows. "I've never been to Italy."

"You have now."

"But that's not fair," Hermione frowned. "I don't remember it. I was asleep the entire time."

"All right." He limped away from the wall and stumbled a bit, before finding his footing. "I'll take you to Italy when all of this is over."

There was a pause in the conversation. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a short breath. It was then that something caught her eye. She walked back to his side of the room and reached for his face. He blinked about five or six times, in quick succession, leaning forward, until her hand brushed over the bandages wrapped around his forehead.

"These need replacing," she deduced.

This time Malfoy gaped, but he quickly found his composure. "Already?"

Hermione nodded. "I should probably replace your stitches, too. Normally once is enough, but these are supernatural wounds…"

"Whatever you say," he sighed, turning for the bed and pulling his shirt over his head.

Hermione proceeded to prepare the new bandages, ignoring the tingling sensation that erupted all over her body. She shook her head, trying desperately to focus, and managed to cut a couple strips, before facing him. He had his back turned to her. There were claw marks all over. She wondered what the attack had been like, how hard he had fought and the look in Greyback's eyes when he realized Draco Malfoy had defeated him.

The werewolf was arguably the most terrifying of all the Death Eaters, aside from Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov. She could still remember the first time she'd seen him, escorting Draco and Narcissa through Knockturn Alley, shortly after Draco had taken the Mark.

Her eyes began to glaze over at the memory of it, but Hermione removed those thoughts from her psyche and concentrated on the young man before her. It was in that moment that her attention drifted to the place on his left forearm. She had seen him shirtless a few times over the past twenty-four hours, but never had her eyes found the Dark Mark. It was there, staring back at her with serpent-like eyes, snaking through a haunting, hollow skull.

She breathed in, feeling numb in her fingertips, and suddenly she dropped the bandage.

"Is everything all right?" asked Malfoy, glancing over his shoulder.

Hermione knelt down and retrieved the fallen bandage, tossing it aside as it was now contaminated. "Just a bit clumsy. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The wizard didn't seem half as convinced as she'd hoped. "Do you want me to do it?"

"You can't reach your back," she countered. "Besides…I can do it. I've done it a dozen times already."

She could tell Malfoy wasn't buying it. He fixed his vision forward and waited patiently as she patched him up. It took about four minutes before he said anything. "If I asked you something personal, would you give me an answer?"

Hermione paused. "I beg your pardon?"

"You trust me, don't you?"

"Er – I – I –" She didn't know what to say, or where those questions were coming from. "I trust that we're after the same goal."

"Good," he nodded. "It's just – I've been with you for the past three months, alone. You're all the company I've had." There was something strange in his voice. "And every time I would look at you, I wondered the same thing."

"What was that?" Hermione inquired – almost finished.

Malfoy waited a long time before giving her an answer. "Why did you do it?"

She could have feigned ignorance, but the brunette knew exactly what her new ally was talking about. She had privately wondered when this question would come up. "I had to defend Harry's final wishes, and I didn't think I would be able to do it alone…so I cheated." Hermione secured the last of the bandages around his back and signaled for him to turn around, in order for her to start on his forehead. "I knew rendering myself unconscious was the only way I wouldn't reveal the location of the Elder Wand, through Veritaserum or Legilimency or whatever forms of torture awaited me."

He was seated on the edge of the bed, whilst she was standing. He was remarkably taller than her, which meant they were completely level this way. "Is that the only reason you did it?"

Hermione focused on the gash. "I suppose I was also afraid."

"Are you afraid now?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm a curious person. I'm sure you know what that's like."

She smiled. "We're almost done here."

"Wait." Malfoy quickly took hold of her hand, before she could finish up. "I want you to know that you can trust me. I know we don't have much time to bond or whatever people do in these types of situations, but…I want to take him down just as much as you do."

Hermione hovered there for a moment. She could do nothing but blink, staring at the wisps of white-blond hair that fell over his forehead, and slowly she noticed the silvery flecks in his eyes. In her school years, she had always assumed his eyes were grey because he was dead inside, but her opinion was beginning to change.

"He robbed me of everything, as well," Malfoy added.

She inhaled, feeling his grip loosen. Their hands fell to the narrow space between them. Her chest rose and didn't fall. Something had happened Something permanent had been established. She was back in reality, and all that consumed her was the fact that her only living ally was the same young man who had taunted her for years upon years – relentlessly.

That was war. There were countless casualties. Their friends. Their families. The lives they had once known. But one casualty Hermione had never anticipated was their hatred for one another. She reached for his forehead and smoothed over the bandages, feeling him wince under the pressure.

Draco Malfoy wasn't like the others. He wasn't like Harry or Ron. He didn't put on a brave face. He was scared when he was scared. He was upset when he was upset. He was himself – unapologetically. There was a certain amount of pride within him, but it was only skin deep. She knew, just by one look, that his only fear was loss.

It was hers, too.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"You," she answered, before she could stop herself.

This didn't faze him. Instead, he made the bold move of leaning forward, and revealing the Dark Mark to her in plain sight. "Is this what scares you?"

_It doesn't scare me_, she wanted to say, but all Hermione managed to do was nod.

"It started to fade the day I abandoned the Dark Lord's reign," Malfoy explained. "But I don't think it'll ever go away."

"Have you researched ways to remove it?" Hermione asked.

He shrugged his bare shoulders. "I've had no time, and everyone repeats the same nonsense. It's permanent. It's permanent. It's permanent."

"There's always a way. I can help you look for it," she offered. "Once everything is said and done."

"About that…" he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know you still have your doubts about me, which is why I don't want you to feel any pressure, but if we are going to be working together…I will need to know the location of the Elder Wand."

"I know." Hermione swallowed down the nerves. "I trust you. It's just – I can't – I can't –"

"Fight another war?"

"I can't set myself up to lose everything," she finished. "Not again…and I know once we start, there is no going back."

Malfoy studied her. "I know it's difficult. It's been difficult on me, as well. Some days I want to just pack up and go to America, and forget about all of this, but I can't. Do you know why?" he asked. "Because of this." He held out his arm, where the Dark Mark stood. "It's a reminder of everything I did before switching sides…everyone I hurt. I have to make things right. I can't run anymore. It's also why I will never remove my Dark Mark, even if there is a way. There is no point in running away from your past," he said, gaze darting around the Institute. "I wouldn't have grown from all that societal Pureblood bullshit, had I not witnessed the atrocities that came along with serving the Dark Lord. I wouldn't be standing here right now." There was a hitch in his breath. His eyes found hers, yet again. "With you."

Hermione felt a calmness take over. For some reason, he was making sense. "You're right," she agreed. "I – I just need to find the courage."

"It can't have strayed too far," he reasoned. "You are Gryffindor, after all."

"_Where dwell the brave at heart_; _their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart_," she recited.

"You forgot pompous and foolhardy," Malfoy laughed, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes. "In some rare cases, steadfast and inspiring."

She scoffed. "You can stop trying to force a friendship between us. I already trust you."

"Who said anything about friendship?" he asked, staring at her with an indecipherable look.

Hermione arched an eyebrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione awoke in a cold sweat. It was still dark out. The moon was half-full. The air was brisk. The room was cold, and filled with shadows. A single shiver crawled the length of her spine. She hugged her knees under the moth-eaten blanket and felt the nerves in her system skyrocket. She had suffered her third nightmare, since waking from her dreamless comatose state. It had been a rough few days, staying in the Institute, scraping by on whatever remained in the desolate building.

She wondered, secretly, how Draco Malfoy had ever found himself in such a place but hadn't the nerve to inquire. It was no business of hers, and had absolutely nothing to do with the mission.

The brunette slowly shifted back into fetal position and closed her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, images of her nightmares came hurdling back; thus rendering her sleepless. They were images of him – of Ron – dying in thousands of different ways. She knew he was gone, but Malfoy had not gone into detail about what happened.

When had he died?

How had he died?

Who killed him?

Was it an accident?

What were his final words?

…Had he died alone?

* * *

It felt like thousands of blisteringly hot knives were being driven through his body, with every step he took. It was the sort of pain he had never wished to experience, and couldn't hide…no matter how hard he tried. Draco grabbed at a nearby tree stump and panted for breath. They had barely trekked a mile, but his lungs were depleted of oxygen. He slumped down, sinking into the damp earth.

It took several moments for Granger to realize he had paused for another break. She peered over her shoulder, and proceeded back to him, without moving a single facial muscle out of place. She was good at that – at being patient.

The young woman knelt by his side and held out a bottle of water. They had collected whatever supplies they could from the Institute, and were now making their way through the forest, and towards the closest wizarding village. It was called _Sterling Harbour _and happened to be the place Draco used to vacation with his parents. The journey would be long and difficult, but it was their only hope in finding wands and continuing their mission.

Draco pushed the bottle away. "I don't need it."

"Don't be an idiot," Granger voiced sternly, unscrewing the lid. "I need you strong."

She was right, but there was something about succumbing to his weaknesses that made Draco want to vanish. He took hold of the bottle and took one begrudging sip, before handing it back. Even that – a small mouthful of water – felt better. The moisture returned to his lips and tongue.

"I'm useless like this. We'll never get there in time."

"This isn't a race," she assured him, placing the bottle back into her bag. "It doesn't matter how long it takes us, only that we get it done."

The wizard frowned, but nodded nonetheless. He hoisted himself onto both feet and brushed the dirt from his trousers. They proceeded forward, moving at a slightly slower pace. Draco thought to say something, but the silence was deafening. He could hear every step, every breath and every heartbeat. The sounds pounded against his eardrums, until that same hollowing feeling found his body. This time he didn't reach for a tree stump. This time he fell, tripping over a broken tree branch and colliding with the ground in the most unattractive of ways.

Granger rushed to his side, propping him upright against the base of a tree and forcing more water into his mouth. He used whatever energy remained to swallow, but it was no use. He felt weak – weaker than when they had started.

"Open your eyes," she whispered – _or was it a scream_?

He couldn't tell. The world was spinning. His equilibrium was out of whack. There was only one thing Draco could focus on, and it was the rate at which his world was slipping away.

"Malfoy! Open your eyes! Stay with me!"

She sounded urgent. He wondered if his face had paled, the way it usually did when he was ill. It made him look white as a ghost, and did nothing favourable for his appearance, but he hadn't the liveliness to care. Granger forcibly opened his eyes, and it was only then that he realized she had touches of bronze in hers.

"_You're beautiful,_" he breathed, feeling his inhibitions melt away, along with his energy.

Granger ignored him, combing his hair back and practically cradling his head in her petite arms. She was quite nurturing, when she wasn't such a pain in the arse. "Stay with me," whispered the girl, pressing her forehead against his left cheekbone. "Please. Please, Draco. Don't give up."

There were few moments in his life, wherein his opinions of people changed for the better – and this happened to be one of them. The desperation in her voice combined with the sound of his name, was like a wakeup call. The feeling of her breath against his neck sent shockwaves through his bloodstream. Draco inhaled a gust of crisp, wintery air and placed his arms around her.

She lifted her head up to see him gazing back at her. Her eyes were shining.

The moment stretched out as far as cosmically possible. It was only when Draco felt his own eyes cloud up with worry, that Hermione finally said something. She opened her rose-colored lips and took a deep, centering breath.

"Don't you dare do that to me ever again," Hermione ordered. Her voice was hard, but the single tear that slid down her freckled face gave her away. "I can't do this without you."

Draco could do nothing but nod. He knew his arms were still around her, and that they were slumped together against a tree, in the middle of nowhere, but he couldn't find a single reason to move. "I won't let you down," he told her, hearing the meaning in his words as he spoke them. "I know you probably think I was joking before, but I meant what I said. _You're stuck with me_," Draco repeated.

Her body grew tense – almost as tense as his. There was a second in which anything could have happened. It was the longest second either of them had ever experienced, but it didn't last forever. Hermione was the first to get a grip on the situation. She gently pulled away, dragging them back to reality.

Draco ran both hands through his pale blond hair, before pushing himself from the pile of dirt and leaves and holding out a hand for his partner. She surprised both of them and took hold of it, allowing him to hoist her up with minimal effort.

"I suppose we should camp here for the night," she suggested, glancing around the clearing. "What do you think?"

He rubbed the back of his head, still getting to grips with what had almost happened. "Sounds good to me."


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione rolled onto her side, facing away from him. The stars were out and the moon was hovering overhead. She should have gone to sleep hours ago, but her nerves had been whirling around since earlier in the day. It had happened so fast. She barely had time to collect herself, let alone understand what had – better yet, had _not _– happened.

He was laying down about six or seven feet away. She figured he was asleep. From the short amount of time they had spent together, Draco had displayed the incredible talent of being able to sleep anywhere at any time. It was one of the few things he had in common with Ron, but Hermione tried not to think about it that way. She found herself comparing them on a regular, if not constant basis.

Granted, they had more that set them apart than in common, but the similarities were as bright as a blaring television in the middle of a dark room. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to sleep, but it didn't work. Her thoughts were scattered in all directions. She couldn't focus.

"Are you awake?"

The sound of his voice was startling. She tried to center her emotions. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can I," he admitted. "Shocking, I know."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh a little. It was comforting to know he was aware of his…quirks. She turned back around and realized they were closer than she thought – about four feet.

Draco offered her a lazy smile. He was bundled up in one of the blankets they had taken from the Institute, laying flat on the ground, just like her. It was a cold night, and they hadn't been able to locate any sort of tent within their previous abode.

"Do you still think it's too dangerous to light a fire?" asked the young man. "It's freezing out here."

"We can't risk being seen…and the smoke…"

Draco nodded. "You're right. I just – I've never had to – erm –"

"Sleep outside?" Hermione proposed, a touch of amusement on her face.

The wizard rolled his eyes. "You can be a dick sometimes."

"A _what_?" she laughed. "I don't think anyone has ever called me that."

"I can't say the same for myself…" Draco smiled. "In fact, I think it was you who called me a – what was it –"

Hermione drew back through her vast collection of memories, and located the one in question. The words were engraved to the back of her mind like a tattoo. "Foul, lying, evil little cockroach," she recited, stifling back the giggles.

Draco placed a hand on his cheek, holding back his own fit of laughter. "I felt that slap for weeks afterwards."

"You deserved it."

"Don't look so smug. I believe I scored higher than you in Potions that year."

This time Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Professor Snape was clearly playing favourites."

"Probably." Draco turned onto his back and faced the stars. "Or I outdid you in academics and you're too prideful to admit –" The young man paused, a look of shock tugging at his facial features. He glanced at Hermione, noticing the mud coating her right hand, and the clump of mud dripping from his hair. "Did you just throw mud at me?"

She shrugged her shoulders, looking quite pleased with herself. "Maybe."

He wiped it off, practically gagging. "You are going to get it."

"Is that so?" Hermione asked, sitting upright and grabbing another handful.

"Oh, yes." Draco followed her lead. "I'm not much of a gentleman. Sorry."

She narrowed her eyes, zeroing in on her target. "Even better."

In about three seconds flat, a full-on battle ensued. Hermione leaped onto her feet and found speed she didn't know she had. She missed her first shot, but connected with her second. It wasn't an even match, given the fact that her opponent was injured, but he definitely wasn't holding back. His aim wasn't bad either.

They chased one another through the area, laughing and throwing and tripping over their own feet. It was like the past year had never happened, and life was back to normal. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt like herself again. She dodged one of his attacks, and shot one back, making contact with his neck.

Draco fell to the ground, in hysterics, and collected himself with just enough time to launch another. His throw landed squarely on Hermione's chest. Her mouth hung open, and she watched as the mud fell in clumps from her shirt. She was beginning to think dirtying their only clothes wasn't the best of ideas, but those few seconds left her open to a second and third attack.

The brunette stumbled backwards, into a tree, and fell on her backside. It hurt but she laughed anyway, knowing the sight of it was probably the best thing since seeing Draco get turned into a ferret in their Fourth Year. In all the chaos, they had somehow ended up side-by-side. The smiles on their faces were bright amidst the darkness.

Hermione wiped at the mud on her clothes and faced him. "You have floppy ears," she deduced, tilting her head to the side in wonder.

The young man arched an eyebrow. "You have a big nose."

She slapped a hand over her nose. "I do not!"

"It looks a bit like a pelican's beak, if I'm honest."

"Well – your ears remind me of _Dumbo_."

"_Dumbo_?" he repeated.

She gave herself a mental slap over the head. "Right – erm – it's a Muggle cartoon about an elephant."

"Oh," Draco nodded – pausing. "Dick."

"Arse."

"Big-nose."

"Floppy-ears."

"Buck teeth."

"Ghost face."

"Bushy hair."

"Brat."

"Know-it-all."

Hermione paused. "In all fairness, I _do_ know it all, but anyway –" She thought for less than half a second. "Quidditch-star-wannabe."

"At least I know how to ride a broomstick without falling flat on my arse," he retorted, cleverly.

"Is that right? It looked to me like you were always chasing Harry's shadow and not the Golden Snitch."

Draco scoffed at her claims. "Says the girl who can't fly to save her life."

"I have flown, and not some sissy broomstick either," she shot back.

"Oh, please. Enlighten me. I beg you," he said sarcastically.

Hermione held her chin up in the air. "A thestral and a hippogriff, if you must know."

"Ha! I would pay to see that."

"I'm sure you would, ferret."

Draco gave her an obvious look. "Enough with the ferret thing. It's such a tired insult."

"You're only saying that because it's brilliant."

"What's brilliant is the fact that there's still room for your eyes and lips with that gargantuan nose on your face."

Hermione's mouth gaped wide open. "I'd rather have my nose than your ears; neither of which manage to catch the sound of your incessant snoring every damned night."

"I do _not _snore."

"Point proven," she added, smirking.

Draco reached up and pinched her nose. "Oink, oink."

"Did you honestly just do that?" Hermione gasped.

"I believe I did."

She huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "It would do you well to learn some manners."

"Oh, come on," he sighed, half-laughing. "Don't get all serious on me now."

Hermione tossed her head to the side and ignored his curious glances. She could hear him blabber some form of an apology but paid no mind. Instead the young woman gathered something in both her hands and spread it all over his face, like those masks her mother used to wear to even out her skin complexion.

Draco's jaw hung open. His eyes and mouth were the only parts of his face that remained clean. He didn't even bother to wipe. He just sat there, covered in mud.

"You – I –" He couldn't find the words to speak, in complete shock. "That was – That was –"

"Brilliant? Amazing? Epic? Triumphant? Inspiring?"

He didn't bother finishing his sentence. His efforts had been sidelined when suddenly Hermione gave in and used her own hands to wipe the mud from his face. She was smiling as she did so, visibly impressed with her acting performance, and remained oblivious to the red that crept up on his cheeks.

Her hands were soft against his skin – soft and warm. It was nice feeling something other than cold and wet, for a change. Draco sat there, and waited for her to finish. The sensation along his cheeks and neck burned with intensity, as she leaned in close. Hermione removed the last bit of mud from around his lips, and stopped.

Her eyes lingered there. "You have a small cut on your bottom lip."

Draco ran his tongue over the suspected area and tasted copper. "Oh. I suppose I do."

"Probably my fault."

"It's all right," he assured her. "I don't feel a thing."

"Really?" Hermione asked, eyeing the bandage wrapped across his forehead.

"Besides there," Draco side-smiled.

She glanced away. There was something in her expression that changed, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Hermione was still, in the purest form, a mystery to him. She didn't reveal much about herself. In fact, he barely knew a thing about her, other than the fact that she liked reading and that her best friends in school were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

In every other sense, she may as well have been a stranger.

"It was probably a bad idea to get our clothes dirty," Draco offered, talking over the silence.

Hermione nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"I still have some money left. I'm sure we'll find a shop in _Sterling Harbour_."

"About that…" She thought for a moment. "Won't the townspeople recognize you?"

"Oh – I hadn't considered that." Draco scratched the back of his neck. "Fuck." He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. I – I have a bit of a foul mouth when it comes to –"

Hermione did nothing but laugh. "It's fine. I'm not twelve. I can handle some cursing."

He laughed with her, still embarrassed. "It's just – I've never heard you curse."

"You've clearly never been around me during a round of _Jenga_."

"_Jenga_?"

"It's a Muggle game."

Draco nodded along. "If it's anything like Exploding Snap, then I know exactly what you mean."

She considered this. "For some reason, I can't imagine you playing a game of…anything."

"What did you think us Slytherins were up to in the dungeons?" he inquired, looking slightly amused.

Hermione shrugged, leaning back against the same tree she had fallen over several moments ago. "I've never thought about it, but now that you mention it…" She could only decide on one thing. "Orgies. Full-on orgies."

The sound that left Draco's mouth was priceless. It was a cross between a gasp and cough. He stared at the girl, dumbfounded. He didn't think it possible for anything so…risqué…to cross her mind. "What in the world gave you that impression?" he asked, amazed. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered that you think all Slytherins are sex-fiends, but…_what_."

She was grinning quite hard. "Just a wild guess."

"Trust me," he started. "If that were even slightly close to the truth, I would definitely have spent more time in the Common Room."

"Noted."

He leaned back, beside her. They weren't terribly close, but there was definite warmth between their bodies. Perhaps they could make do without a fire. _It's about survival_, Draco told himself, repeatedly. _Nothing more_. The chills in his body vanished into the darkness. The tension in his muscles followed suit. It was shaping up to be a strange night, and suddenly the physical exertion of their battle wore down on him.

Draco yawned, turning his head sideways to find Hermione's nestled against his shoulder. He must have been quite tired to miss that. The young man considered waking her up and proceeding back to his side of the campsite, but the soft breaths that escaped her mouth and nose kept him completely still. He knew she had been suffering from nightmares. The walls in the Institute were thin, and provided very little barrier between their rooms.

It was during their last night at the Institute, that Draco heard her crying. If it had been any other person, in any other situation, he might have offered some form of comfort, but that wasn't their dynamic. Hermione wasn't his friend. Her emotional wellbeing wasn't his business. But even so, he couldn't sleep without knowing she was all right. He figured it was a side effect of looking after her during those three months.

The need to protect her just wouldn't go away.

The young wizard sheepishly closed his eyes and pictured himself in the villa, as he had been before Greyback's arrival. It was something of a coping mechanism – a technique he had developed to calm himself whilst spending nights at the Institute. He imagined it all. His favourite wine. His favourite spot on the deck. His favourite food. His favourite route to the market. His large, comfy bed. His favourite song. His favourite everything. But there was one difference in these fantasies, compared to the ones he had visualized in the nights preceding this one.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I appreciate everyone who has made it this far into the story. Your support means the world to me. Thanks, again and don't forget to leave a review. **

**xo.**


	8. Chapter 8

It was a nice, quaint, beachside town filled with the usual amenities. She figured they were somewhere near Brighton, judging by the surroundings, and strolled into the nearest Victorian-style building. It was the _Wyvern Wing Inn _and would have looked like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel, had it not been for the magical artifacts propped against the lobby furniture and all over the walls. The Inn Keeper glanced at her through his circular spectacles. He looked to be a magical reincarnation of John Lennon. Hermione had spent most of her childhood listening to the Beatles – her parents' favourite band – and this man's presence served as a constant reminder of them. She pushed back the onslaught of survivor's guilt and proceeded to the front desk.

"Hello, I was wondering if you have any rooms available for tonight."

The Inn Keeper, somewhere in his 50s, narrowed his tired eyes. "For one?"

"Erm – two," she corrected, knowing what that usually meant and that the magical community, as wonderful as it was, wasn't the most progressive.

"One moment." He licked his finger and turned the pages of the reservation book, landing somewhere near the end. The book was leather bound, and the pages were thin and eggshell white. "The only room I have available for tonight has one queen-sized bed," he told her, peering up, over the rim of his glasses. "Will that do?"

Hermione swallowed. She didn't have much time. She still had to make a run for the shops and pick up some clothes and two wands – and her partner was still waiting for her somewhere near the edge of the forest. It had taken a bit of convincing, but she had somehow managed to persuade him into letting her get the job done – for fear of him being recognized. The plan was for her to get a room for the night, sneak him in and then gather what they needed.

"That will do just dine," she decided, smiling.

"May I have your name?" The Inn Keeper asked, maintaining his stern voice.

She paused. "Helen."

"Helen?" he repeated. "Do you have a surname, Miss Helen?"

"Erm – of course. My surname is…" Her eyes darted around the lobby, and fell squarely on the small, metallic object positioned atop the front desk for guests. "Bell. Helen Bell."

The Inn Keeper arched an eyebrow. "Helen Bell. Interesting." He tilted his head down and dipped his Quill in a pot of ink before writing her name down. "Well, Miss Bell, I do hope you enjoy your stay at the _Wyvern Wing Inn_." He reached under the desk and handed her a set of room keys. "You are assigned to Room 25. It is customary to pay all fees during checkout, at noon."

Hermione nodded, still smiling. "Tomorrow at noon. Got it. Thanks." She took hold of the keys and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Oh – erm. Do you have any recommendations for restaurants?"

"I hear the pub down the road is a fine establishment. It is owned and operated by a relative of mine named William."

"Oh – sounds good." Her stomach had been growling for the past four hours. Their food supply had run dry fairly quick. Draco may have been thin, but he sure knew how to pack it down. "Thank you, again."

The Inn Keeper mumbled something and strolled into the backroom.

Hermione waited until he was out of sight, before pushing through the front doors and walking out onto the street. She glanced around, thankful that nobody was out so early in the afternoon, and coughed twice – rather loudly. Through the corner of her eye, the young woman noticed something move from the nearby forest. It was fast – faster than she had expected – and before she could count to three, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around and spotted a pair of familiar grey eyes hidden underneath the hood of a mud-stained cloak. She wanted to laugh, but didn't. "You look like a homeless person."

"So do you," Draco frowned, visibly ashamed of his current physical state. "Come on. Let's go. Hurry up. I hear someone."

There were voices turning the corner. Hermione quickly grabbed at Draco's arm and dragged him inside the Inn, and up the stairs. The Inn Keeper was still nowhere to be seen, luckily enough. They raced to the second floor and practically sprinted to Room 25.

She fumbled with the keys, hearing those same voices carry on up the stairs. She knew Draco was having a mini-panic attack, and felt her fingers go numb from the pressure.

"I'll do it…!" The wizard grabbed the keys from her hands and jabbed the right one in the keyhole, before giving it a gentle turn. There was a click inside the mechanism – perhaps the most beautiful, welcoming sound either of them had heard in days – and before they knew it, they were inside.

Draco locked the door shut and headed straight for the loo. "I'm taking a shower," he called out. "There's money in the front pocket of my bag. Please don't buy me anything green."

"Don't you Slytherin folk bleed green?" Hermione asked pointedly, locating a small pouch filled with coins.

"I'm already pale and blond-haired. I don't need to look even more like a corpse," Draco explained, through the closed door. He turned the shower on. "_I had to endure it through six years of the Hogwarts' Slytherin uniforms. Don't make me go through that trauma again_."

"All right," Hermione laughed, pocketing the money. "I'll be back in a bit. Leave me some clean towels."

He mumbled something in response, but she couldn't her him. She figured it was some sort of dig at her bushy hair and how the Inn would go out of business if she collected enough towels to dry it. Resigned to their current predicament, the brunette took one look in the mirror, adjusting her clothes and hair, before proceeding out the door.

It would be a long, long day – of that much she was certain.

* * *

The day was drawing to a close. It was about seven in the evening, and people were out and about, heading to dinner and grabbing drinks at the local pub. Draco remembered being one of them. His last time at _Sterling Harbour _had been eventful, to say the least, but pleasant. It was the summer before his Sixth Year, and it just so happened to be the summer he had lost his virginity.

Her name was Leanne Forbes and she was spectacular. Her hair was long, and the darkest shade of brown he had ever seen. It contrasted with her skin colour in the most dazzling way. Her eyes were bright blue. Her figure was far beyond his expectations – but he didn't mind at all. The sight of her, for the first time, made him so weak in the knees that he had practically fallen to the floor. She also happened to be five years older than him, and American.

His mother hadn't approved of their friendship, given that Draco had been promised to Pansy Parkinson at the time, but he paid no mind to his parents' demands – back then. To his own astonishment, it had been Leanne to make the first move. She spotted him and Blaise in the pub, enjoying some Butterbeer and a few drinks, when suddenly a track off the Weird Sisters' latest album came blaring through the speakers.

"Would either of your boys like to dance?" Leanne had asked, eyes firmly on Draco.

He gave one look to Blaise, who happened to be equally shocked, and jolted upright. The pair of them danced for what felt like ages, and eventually went for a walk. They talked for hours, about everything. Draco told Leanne about Hogwarts and all his friends. She told him about her career as a writer for an American publication, similar to _The Daily Prophet_.

It wasn't at all like his friends had said. His first time hadn't been uncomfortable or rushed. It felt nice. It felt right. Draco didn't know much about Leanne, sure, but he knew enough to know she was a good person, with brilliant taste.

He smiled to himself, thinking back to their time together. It had been on the beach, whilst the entire town was alive and buzzing in the background. They had walked to a secluded spot and ravaged each other without a moment's notice. The feeling of her hands on his body and his lips on her skin made him feel sixteen all over again.

Draco fell back on the bed, sighing. It had been a long time since he had thought of his American friend – but she wasn't his priority. The young man turned to the clock, and noticed it was now half eight. He made a run for the window, eyeballing the crowd of people, trying desperately to spot a bushy-haired brunette – but she was nowhere in sight.

That was when the panic set in. He had known all along that sending her out alone had been a bad idea. She could have been halfway to Voldemort's dungeons by then. It had been hours since she'd left. He had initially been upset over lack of nourishment, but food was far from his concerns. Draco ignored the risks and slipped on his boots, before heading straight for the door.

He had just barely clasped his hand around the knob, when suddenly it opened from the other side. He backed away, watching as Hermione sauntered in looking starry-eyed.

She plopped the shopping bags by the door, and strolled past him, humming some Muggle tune under her breath. There was something strange about her, but he couldn't figure out what had happened or what had changed. She just seemed…happy.

"What?" Hermione asked, finally noticing the way he was looking at her.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Where have you been?"

"The shops," she answered matter-of-factly. "Remember?"

He didn't look very convinced. "It's been four hours. I know it doesn't take that long for you to pick out a couple dresses, judging by your usual wardrobe."

The brunette arched an eyebrow. "I know you've got cabin fever, but don't get stroppy with me. It took some time to find the right sizes, and then I had to find the wand shop, which happened to be closed for the day, and then I got hungry, so –"

"_Oh_, pardon me. I'm sorry. _You _were hungry?" he asked, folding his arms and pacing the room. "Where are my manners?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Relax. I brought some food for you. It's in one of the bags."

"What about the clothes?"

"Everything is there."

Draco scoffed. "Besides the wands."

"The shop was closed," she repeated, visibly agitated. "What do you want me to do? Break in?"

He waited a moment, before nodding – rapidly. "Actually, yes! We're on a bit of a time crunch, in case you weren't aware."

Hermione ignored him, slipping out of her cardigan and heading straight for the loo. She hadn't yet showered, and there were still traces of mud along her neck and in her hair. The door closed behind her – with a bit of a bang, and brought an end to their argument.

They hadn't spoken much. It had been an awkward morning, waking up in the middle of the forest, entangled with one another. His arm had been around her. Her head had been nuzzled right under his chin. It was quite compromising, but only because it felt...comfortable.

Draco closed his eyes, and calmed his nerves. He knew they had no time for petty arguments. There was a job to be done, and whatever rivalry they had, would have to be pushed aside for the time being. He took a few deep breaths, waiting until the anger within him passed, until knocking on the door to the loo. The shower hadn't gone off, which meant it was all right to talk.

"Hermione?" he called out, dropping the tension in his voice. "I know you're tired from being out all day, and I shouldn't have gotten angry with you. You just took so bloody long and…I was worried."

The door opened. She was there. Her clothes were on the floor, and she was in one of the bathrobes. The frustration in her features had disappeared. "It's all right. I – I suppose I should have returned earlier."

"Don't worry about it. Let's just forget this ever happened. Sound good?"

She made motion to nod, but then stopped. "I – well – I might have spent more time than was necessary in the pub."

Draco paused. "The one down the road?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, a touch of colour on her cheeks. "The Inn Keeper told me about it. His nephew owns the place. William."

"William," the wizard repeated, grinding his teeth. "That bastard owns the pub? What happened to his parents?"

"You know him?" she asked.

Draco nodded his head – slowly. "We used to be mates."

"Ah." Hermione smiled to herself. "Well – William is quite lovely."

"Lovely?"

"Yes, lovely. Polite, courteous and well-rounded, as well."

The patience left Draco's bloodstream faster than he thought possible. He shot the brunette a look filled with contempt. "It all makes sense now. I was waiting here, worried sick, and you were down there chatting up the first bloke you could get your hands on."

Her mouth gaped wide open. "First of all, I was _talking _to him. There was no _chatting up _involved, and even if there was – who bloody cares!"

"I care!" Draco shouted. "He's Pureblood, you idiot! If he knows you're Muggle-born, he'll hand you over to the Death Eaters faster than you can blink!"

Hermione walked straight up to her partner. They were standing inches apart. She stood at least a foot shorter than him, but it didn't matter. Her tolerance was fading at an abnormally fast pace. "I have more tact than you think," she clarified, eyes seething with anger and frustration. "He thinks my name is Helen Bell, and that I'm from a Pureblood family in the north."

"Brilliant, because that's convincing," Draco retorted, sarcastically. "I can't believe you would jeopardize everything for a couple drinks with some chav."

"Stop that!" she urged, blinking back the aggravation. "Stop belittling me. I know you've spent the past three months protecting me along with your parents' wishes, and although I find that incredibly admirable, I want you to know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you to tell me right from wrong. I don't need you to hover over me. I don't need you to act like the overly protective friend that you're not and never will be, and I most certainly don't need you to judge me based on one conversation I had with one bloke, who just so happens to respect me."

"Is that the impression he gave you?" Draco inquired, amused. "I'll tell you something about William, and exactly what he thinks of girls like you."

Hermione held her hand out between them. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

"Why? Because you think I don't respect you?"

She looked him dead in the eyes. "As a matter of fact, you don't respect me. The fact that you're accusing me of being the town slag proves my point."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know that's not true. I'm just worried that William –"

"Who cares about William?" Hermione interjected. "You're the one who told me to do some digging, and now that I'm doing my bloody job, you have a problem with it?"

"I made the grave miscalculation of assuming you would be smart about it and ask some old gran in the shops," he responded crossly.

Hermione snorted with derision. "Not an attractive, single, young man from the pub?"

"You're pathetic," Draco decided, heading out of the loo.

She followed him, jabbing him on the back with her finger and waiting until he turned around. "Tell me what's really bothering you, and don't give me that _oh-so concerned _bullshit. I've known you long enough to know when you're lying."

His glare was deep. "Fine? You want the truth." He glanced out the window, where the pub happened to be. "Will stole my – my girlfriend from me when we were younger."

Hermione's face turned blank. She suppressed her laughter. "This is about a girl?"

"Her name was Leanne and she was – doesn't matter. The point is that he's nothing but a disloyal piece of scum."

She pressed her lips together, trying desperately to keep her composure. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry, because that is the single most hilarious thing I've heard in quite some time."

Draco frowned. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. I'm sure you and your Gryffindor friends wouldn't be caught dead doing something that disgusting to one another."

"That's because my friends _are _dead," Hermione finished, gradually shocked over the words that had come out of her mouth. She shook her head, refocusing. "Listen – I'm sorry William betrayed you, but he's actually given me some useful information."

"Like what?"

"There are two Death Eaters in town, who go by the aliases of Fletcher and Woodley. They're big, burly men with black cloaks and the whole nine."

Draco scrunched his mouth to the side. "Good thing we're leaving in the morning."

"Exactly." Hermione peered out of the window. "I don't know where they are, but William told me they usually drop by the pub around nine o'clock."

"So?"

"So I plan on going back and doing some more digging."

He fixed his gaze on her, holding his finger out. "You will do no such thing. It is far too dangerous. You don't even have a wand, for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione folded her hand over his and lowered it. "I can look after myself."

"I know I was being a prick before, but I will absolutely not stand by and let you walk into that death trap," Draco affirmed. "You have to trust me on this one. Those Death Eaters will see right through your act."

"I'm not going to talk to them," Hermione assured him, still holding onto his hand. "I just want to see what we're up against. That's all."

"You're not going to budge on this one, are you?"

"Just trust me. I'll be back soon."

Draco didn't like this idea. He didn't like it one bit. But the choice was not his. He merely stood there, in complete silence, as Hermione strolled back to the loo. She was still in her bathrobe. Her hair fell in spirals, just over the inner curve of her back, and bounced every time she took a step. There was one moment, in which the young man considered running after her and begging her to stay – but he didn't.

He knew this would be one of those defining moments of their partnership. It would only work if he trusted her, as much as she trusted him. Before he knew it, the shower turned off and she was back outside. Her hair was wet, but she looked clean and refreshed.

"Hermione?" he asked, facing her from across the room.

She was drying her hair with one of the smaller towels, standing in front of the full-length mirror near the entrance. Her usual cardigan and jeans had been replaced with a deep blue evening dress, purchased from one of the shops. It had definitely been a strategic purchase on her part, and suddenly Draco felt stupid for ever having doubted her. She knew exactly what she was doing.

He proceeded to her end of the room. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she smiled, parting her hair down the middle and running her fingers through it. "All is forgiven."

Draco watched as she made some finishing touches, and opened his mouth to speak. "Wait," he muttered, catching her by the wrist as she turned to leave. He swung her around. They stood close, so close that he could count the freckles along her nose and cheeks. "Please, be careful."

Hermione's expression changed. She took note of the conviction in her partner's voice. "I will." There were a few seconds, in which nothing happened. The moment was still and silent. But it soon drew to a close, when the brunette leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her Slytherin counterpart's cheek.

"Don't wait up, Draco."

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This one was fun to write. Don't forget to leave a review.**

**xo. **


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione brushed away the wrinkles on her dress. It was a brisk night. The townspeople were scattered all over the streets, chatting away and catching up with one another. She strolled out of the Inn and across the street. The pub was something of a local hot spot, harbouring more of an older crowd during this time. It was made of dark brick and decorated similar to what she assumed the Slytherin Common Room looked like. There were shades of green everywhere, from the booths and seat cushions to the food trays and server aprons.

The brunette proceeded through the door, catching the eye of more than a few patrons. They were significantly older and made her skin crawl, but she ignored them. Her attention drifted to the other side of the pub, where the bar was, and she spotted her target. He was tall, handsome, young and so, so, _so sexy_ – but that wasn't the point.

"Helen," he greeted, wiping at some pint glasses. "Have a seat. What can I get you?"

She hopped onto a nearby barstool. "Do you have Elvish Wine?"

William nodded, preparing her a glass. He had been working most of the day, and looked a bit tired but didn't show it in his actions. "Here you are." The young man slid her wine across the counter. "What brings you back?"

Hermione took a sip. She wasn't a fan of alcohol, but when in Rome. "I was getting bored up in my room," she lied. "I figured I should see more of this place before I leave tomorrow morning."

"You're leaving?" he asked, startled. "So soon?"

She smiled. "I have some business back home."

"Of course," he acknowledged, visibly disappointed. "I – I don't know if this is appropriate, but I would love to show you around _Sterling Harbour _before you leave."

"Don't you work?" Hermione inquired, taking another sip.

William prepared some more drinks for the others. "I do, but my night bartender will be coming in soon. I could end my shift early, if you're interested."

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"It's no inconvenience," he winked. "We'll go for a walk around town. I could show you where those shifty blokes are staying."

Hermione considered this. She glanced around the pub. There was still no sign of Fletcher or Woodley – but their presence had been no guarantee. In fact, she wasn't even sure if they were Death Eaters, just that William had described two very strange individuals frequenting his pub since the end of the war.

He noticed her strained expression. "I won't feel rejected if you would rather stay here."

She glanced back up at him. "What? Oh. No – I would love for you to show me around town."

His smile returned. "Really? Wicked, because I would totally have felt rejected."

Hermione rolled her eyes, laughing. "Whenever you're ready."

* * *

They walked in silence. The air was chilly, and Hermione made the mistake of leaving her cloak back at the Inn. She hugged her shoulders and walked side-by-side with William. There were still some people out, by the time his night bartender had arrived, but the streets were considerably less crowded. It was a weeknight, so she figured people we catching sleep before work or school the next morning. Her own morning would be jam-packed, but her thoughts weren't revolving around those responsibilities.

She still had some digging to do.

"About those two…" Hermione started, referring to Fletcher and Woodley. "What makes you certain they're Death Eaters?"

William shrugged. "It's just a hunch. They seem…the type, if you know what I mean."

"They dislike Muggles?"

He laughed. "That's everyone."

She cleared her throat. Perhaps Draco had been right about this particular young man. "Erm – right. What sets them apart from regular Purebloods?"

The pub owner led her around the corner, away from the town square and towards a shady-looking area by the trees. There were no houses there. The only structure in sight was a tall, abandoned warehouse. "They live here, for one," he gestured. "Bit grim, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, hugging her shoulders tight. "How do you know they live here?"

"I followed them one night," explained William, hopping to the top of the fence surrounding the building and holding his hand out for her. She took hold of it, and he hoisted her to the other side – effortlessly. "It was a couple months back, after they started a fight with my uncle."

"The one who owns the Inn?" Hermione asked.

William nodded. "You know him?"

"I'm staying there tonight," she clarified, wondering if telling him had been a mistake.

"Oh – right. Uncle Richard operates the only Inn in town. I should've guessed." He made way around the building, towards one of the side doors. "How do you like the Inn?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "It's very nice." She glanced around. "Where are we going?"

"Inside?" he suggested, looking back at her. "Unless you'd rather stay out here."

"I don't know…" Her eyes darted around the building. "What if they catch us?"

William held out his wand. It was twelve inches and looked to be made of a dark, sturdy wood. "That's what this is for."

"Really?"

"Are you scared?"

Hermione shook her head. "I – I just don't think it's a good idea. Maybe we should head back."

The young man pocketed his wand, staring down at his shoes, before fixing his gaze on her. Something in his expression set off a red flag, but the alert had been received too late. William grabbed hold of Hermione and pressed her against the exterior of the building, slapping a hand over her mouth to drown out her screams.

"Here's what's going to happen," he told her, voice slithering through his lips and into her ears. "I'm going to take you inside, put a silencing charm on you, and you'll do exactly as I say." He tugged at her hair, making her eyes water. "Do I make myself clear?"

There was panic in her lungs. She was shaking. She couldn't move. He was too strong. She could do nothing but close her eyes and hope the moment was just some cruel hallucination.

"Do I make myself clear!" he shouted.

Hermione wanted to vanish into the wall. She could feel tears pour from her eyes and down his hand, where he blocked her mouth. Her body was losing energy. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The grass and trees and sky blended into the darkness.

* * *

Draco woke up, covered in cold sweat. His heart was racing. His eyes were wide. His body was shaking. He glanced around the room, taking note of the fact that he was still alone. Hermione hadn't returned, and it had already been two hours. She can't have been digging around for that long, but it wasn't his place to question her actions. They had already established that.

His job, in that moment, was to trust her capabilities. She had helped Potter through every mission they had ever embarked on, but Potter was also lying dead in some grave. Draco swallowed hard, scratching the back of his head in thought.

It took a total of three seconds for him to hop out of bed and through the door, grabbing his boots and cloak on his way out.

"Not so fast."

The moment his feet touched the corridor, something was pressed onto his back. It didn't take a genius to know what it was. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning on his heel to see a wand pointed directly at him. Its owner was old – about the same age as his parents – and wore circular spectacles. He was shorter than Draco, but only by a couple inches. If it hadn't been for the grey hair, he would have pegged this man to be only five or six years his senior.

He knew this man. He knew him quite well. Draco balled his hands into fists. "Richard."

The Inn Keeper smiled. "I see you remember me."

"I do."

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave," Richard told him, pressing the wand against Draco's chest. "My apologies, Mr. Malfoy."

"Where is she?" Draco demanded.

"Helen?" he asked. "Oh – I think you mean Miss Granger. She is with my nephew, in the warehouse building near the woods. I'm sure you know it well."

Draco did know it well. It had been his and his friends' hangout, during their summers at _Sterling Harbour_. The building had once been used to produce cauldrons, but it had since been run out of business, and was home to a vast array of creepy crawly creatures. It was a teenager's wet dream.

The young man took a deep, calculating breath. "You can have me," he said firmly. "But the girl goes free."

Richard laughed. "Are those your terms?" he asked. "Because I am quite certain I hold the only wand in this corridor, Mr. Malfoy. It would do you well to listen to your elders."

"Let. Her. Go." Draco ordered, standing tall. "She has done nothing wrong to anyone here."

"You are right," agreed the Inn Keeper. "But I am told your lady friend is quite the bargaining tool, and I would love to have my brother and his wife back."

Draco's features loosened for a split-second, as he thought of William's parents. They were a Pureblood family, but they were by no means a family of Death Eaters. He should have known Alan and Katie Forbes had been taken in by Death Eaters the moment Hermione told him their son was owner of the pub.

He refocused his attention. "I know you're doing this because you feel like it's the only way, but it's not. I need her back. You will see your brother again. I promise."

"You're wandless and stupid enough to wander back to this town," Richard deduced. "I would rather keep my cards exactly where they are. Now back down, before I'm forced to use this wand."

"You'll lose," Draco assured him, rolling up his sleeves. "Old man."

Richard smiled something venomous. "Try me."

* * *

Hermione shouted at the top of her lungs, but no sound came out. He had already silenced her and tied her to a chair in the middle of the topmost room. She kicked and shifted and tossed and turned. It was no use. She had gravely misjudged William, and would now pay the price. Everything they had worked for – everything Draco had worked for – would be turned to shit, and it was all because of her naivety.

She held back the tears, knowing it was pathetic to cry. Her only hope rested in William's underestimation of her. She had already given him the impression that she was some Pureblood heiress who had never done so much as lift a finger her entire life. Little did he know, she was actually a bread'n'buttered Gryffindor – just waiting for the chance to rip the hair from his head.

The young man strolled into the dirty, run-down upper floor. It was empty, save for her chair and some torn drapes hanging around the line of windows in the front wall of the building.

He proceeded towards her, and pressed the tip of his wand against her jaw line. A collection of shivers ran down her body, as he traced it down her neck and towards the upper rim of her dress.

"You're a pretty thing, aren't you?" William asked, leaning over her. He smelled of musky cologne, and wore faded jeans with a white t-shirt. He looked something like James Dean, but acted more like a villain. "It's a shame I'll have to give you away."

Hermione's facial muscles hardened. She had no idea what he meant by that, and secretly wondered if there was more to this plan than abusing her in some run-down warehouse.

William laughed at her confusion. "I'll explain," he told her, rubbing his lips on her hair. "Those Death Eaters took my parents one month ago, and told me the only way I'll get them back is if I find _you_."

Her breathing shallowed. It all made sense – everything.

"I know your name is Hermione Granger, and that you were best friends with Harry Potter," William announced. "I know everything there is to know, including the identity of the person hiding in your room."

Her nerves skyrocketed. It was a trap. It was all a trap, and she had fallen into it – no questions asked. She closed her eyes, beyond disappointed in herself.

The pub owner tugged at the straps on her dress, making the right one sink down her shoulder. "I was told I had to capture you and take you to them, and I will," he started, licking his lips. "But before that, I think I deserve a bit of a reward." The look in his eyes was menacing. "Promise you won't tell my Uncle Richard? He frowns upon this type of thing."

Hermione couldn't speak, but she was still in control of her body. She opened her mouth and spat on him, feeling the anger and hatred radiate from her being like a heating vent.

William jumped back, cackling with laughter. "You're a feisty one," he deduced, squeezing her mouth with one hand. "Even better."

* * *

Draco slammed against the ceiling, and then the floor. His head was spinning. He had been knocked around all over the corridor, victim to one curse after another. He knew Richard Forbes was a good wizard, but he had no idea how true that assessment had been, until then. The young man stood back on his feet, feeling his previous injuries spring back to life. Hermione had purchased some magical topical cream to speed up the healing process, but it didn't work half as well as magic from a wand would have.

"Give up, Mr. Malfoy. I will not back down," Richard advised, delivering another curse.

This one shot straight into Draco's chest, sending him several feet back. He had to do something. He had to think of something. He had to think quickly, and grab that wand from Richard's hand. The young wizard raced forward, feeling his legs weaken beneath him and another curse. This one was different from the others.

Draco's body contorted. It felt as though his muscles and bones were rearranging themselves. He writhed in pain, only then realizing it was the _Cruciatus Curse_.

The Inn Keeper proceeded forward – wand-arm extended. "I hate to do this, Mr. Malfoy. I was rather fond of you and your parents."

The pain in his body branched out from top of his head to the tips of his toes. Draco was beginning to lose consciousness. It was too much. He could feel the wounds on his back and forehead re-open. Everything was happening all at once. It hurt to think – let alone move – but he forced his mind into tunnel vision.

He saw one thing, amongst all the pain and all the loss. He saw one, all-consuming thing and her name happened to be Hermione Granger. The young man thought of her smile, her unruly hair, her eyes, her laugh, her scornful looks, her slaps, her soft snores, her cheeks, her legs, her arms, her lips –

Richard fell backwards, tripped at the ankles. The curse was no more. Draco gave his arm another swing and sent his parents' old friend sliding.

"If anything happens to her," started the young man, shakily getting to his feet before prying the wand from Richard's hands. "I will come back," he warned. "And I will kill you. _Stupefy_!"

* * *

Hermione's blood was pulsing at an irregularly high rate. She turned her head to the side, avoiding his lips. The grip he had on her arms would definitely bruise come morning, but part of her wondered if she would even make it that far. There was no telling what was in store for her.

He pressed his lips on her neck and sucked on the skin there. It wasn't gentle. It was rough and painful. He most definitely wasn't out to make her feel good. He wanted to hurt her, and his efforts proved successful. She could feel the tears that had been collecting around her eyes begin to fall down her cheeks.

She struggled against the bindings, feeling the rope dig into her wrists and ankles. She didn't know what hurt more – the fact that this man was violating her, or that she could do nothing about it. Hermione tried to shake him off, but this only excited him further.

William tore the straps on her dress, but the rest of it remained in place. He grabbed her face with both hands and forced his lips on hers. He tasted vile – like rancid milk and battery acid. The feeling of his mouth on hers made the young woman want to hurl, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was his tongue. He slid it in and out, laughing as he licked the inside of her lips and teeth.

Hermione centered her emotions and waited until his tongue slid between her upper and bottom row of teeth, before biting down on it – hard. He screamed, slapping her across the face and wrapping one hand around her neck.

"You bitch!" William's grip tightened. "I was going to go easy on you, but now you've upset me." There was blood dripping from his mouth. He started choking her, waiting until the colour left her face before releasing.

She struggled to breathe, feeling light-headed and dizzy, and watched as he stepped back a couple feet. He didn't touch her. Instead he reached down for his belt buckle, and suddenly his intentions became clear. Hermione used every bit of strength she had to free herself – but it didn't work. Her chair fell backwards. She hit her head on the concrete floor. She was seeing stars, and not in the same way as before.

William stopped what he was doing and lifted her back up. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, adding to her wooziness. She could barely see him, or anything – for that matter. "Tell me, Hermione. Have you ever been fucked?"

She couldn't concentrate. She heard what he was saying, but there was no processing the words. The only thing Hermione managed to do was, breathe. Her head hurt worse than anything. The images in her mind were staggered. She blinked hard – knowing her current state could only result in defeat. He grabbed the upper rim of her dress and tore down the middle, revealing bare flesh and a black, lacy bra. Hermione wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and disappear. She knew it was only a matter of time…and then something amazing happened.

William's hands were off her. He fell to the floor, shouting curses as he went, and through the corner of her eye, Hermione saw someone with pale blond hair.

It was Draco.

He wrestled William to the floor and punched him right on the nose. There was a resounding crack, and then the pub owner cried out in pain. His nose had broken, but that wasn't the end of it. He pushed Draco off of him and extended his wand. There were green sparks in the air, but Draco dodged them just in the nick of time.

He wasn't in the best condition either. His shirt was torn. His hair was a mess. There was blood all over him and new wounds to match his old ones. Something had obviously happened – but there was no time to think of that.

Draco launched forward, narrowly evading some more sparks whilst delivering his own spells, and slide-kicked William off balance. The men continued their fight where Hermione couldn't see, but every time she heard her partner shout – a small part of her soul withered away. She had done this to him. If she had listened to him, none of this would have happened. They might have stood a chance.

Her head began to fall, from exhaustion, when suddenly a pair of hands found her wrists and ankles. The bindings were no more. She was freed. She turned her gaze, fully prepared to find Draco behind her, but it wasn't him. It was William. He clasped his hand around her neck and lifted her into the air, pointing his wand against her face.

Her partner was sprawled on the floor, crawling towards her with desperation in his eyes. The wand he had been using had fallen from his grip and rolled a few feet away.

"If you touch that wand, I will break every bone in her body," William warned. "Don't test me."

Draco stopped – without question. His eyes met with Hermione's, for the first time since he'd broken into the warehouse. She grabbed at William's hand and scratched and clawed – but his grip just wouldn't loosen. Her legs shook beneath her, trying to find surface. She could feel the pressure build up around her face and mouthed something to her partner.

_Kill him_.

But the threat of losing her was too much. Draco hesitated. He gave her one, defining look, as if they spoke a telepathic language, and watched as William squeezed the life out of her. It appeared as though his eyes were watering just as much as hers.

"All right," Draco said, facing William. "You win. I – I'll do what you want."

The smile that snaked its way onto William's face was nauseating. "Good choice. You best get one good look at her naked bits right now, because I'm certain you won't see her again."

Draco's knuckles turned white from how hard he was squeezing them. "No need for that."

"Pardon me?"

"Now!" shouted the fair-haired wizard.

In a matter of milliseconds, Hermione stopped clawing at William's hands and instead scratched his eyes, just as they focused on her. He screamed with all his might and released her, pressing his hands over his face in agony. She quickly snatched the wand from his grip and lifted the silencing charm off herself, before both her and Draco stood on either side of their opponent.

William cried out. There was blood on his hands, and he couldn't see. His lips quivered. "I will fucking kill you, you disgusting Mudbl –!"

"_Stupefy_!" she shouted, feeling the magic course through the wand and land squarely along his back. He stopped thrashing. His shouts were no more.

Frightened, the young woman fell to the floor, feeling her hands and body shake from the threat of what could have happened. Her chest was pumping. She felt the wand slip from her fingertips. It was over. It was actually over. Her eyes and face were covered in tears, and just as the world started to slip away – she beat it to the chase.

Draco wrapped her in his arms and together, they Apparated.

**A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading this chapter. Please leave a review. **

**xo.**


	10. Chapter 10

There was grass beneath their bodies. It was hot and cold. It felt as though the weather couldn't decide which direction to go. Hermione opened her eyes, and realized it had nothing to do with the weather at all. She was laying flat on her back, with Draco sitting beside her. The warmth was coming from him. The cold was coming from the air. He had Apparated them into some sort of meadow.

He gazed down at her with that worried look about his eyes. "Are you all right?"

Hermione remembered what happened, realizing she had blacked out. The memory of William's touch made her sick all over again, but she managed to block out those thoughts, and instead felt her eyes water. "I'm so, so sorry," she apologized, sitting upright. "I don't know what happened. I was – I was wrong. I ruined everything. I'm such an –"

It was daunting, how much their relationship had changed over the past few days. They still managed to exchange their fair share of insults, but the essence of their bond had forever transitioned into something much, much more different. Hermione's words were cut short. Her eyes went wide, and her thoughts dispersed. She inhaled, breathing in Draco's scent of scotch and spice, and felt his strong, bruised arms wrap around her waist.

There was one fleeting moment, wherein either of them could have pulled away – but it disappeared in a flash. Draco drew her close, placed one hand under her chin and kissed her.

Her mother had once described something to her, when Hermione became a young woman. It was about love and relationships – but primarily sex – and it revolved around the pressures laced within ones adolescent life. Hogwarts was a place for learning, but it most definitely did not provide any sort of barrier between Hermione and those pressures. She heard countless stories about her classmates snogging after hours and sometimes engaging in heavier, more permanent acts.

It terrified her, realizing they had reached the age wherein such acts were prevalent. She was undoubtedly mature for her age, but Hermione was nowhere near ready to do anything more than kiss. Even that, she had only done twice, with two different boys. Her priorities were different, in comparison to others. She had spent most of her teen years dodging Death Eaters alongside her best friends: Harry and Ron. There was no time or room for teen love.

But right then, still dodging Death Eaters and still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, Hermione felt different.

Draco kissed her, slowly and sensually, grazing their lips together with a heated sort of desperation. It was like an out-of-body experience, kissing him in a field of grass with thousands of stars glittering across the darkened veil that was the night sky. There was so much conviction in the way he touched her, and tasted her. It felt as though, with each movement, he transferred all his thoughts, fears, dreams and desires onto her – every single one.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was…everything.

The muscles along his torso tightened, as she started to kiss back. His hands traveled to the small of her back. She could feel his body heat through the fabric of her dress, and right then Hermione remembered it was torn in several different places. Their bodies were pressed together so tight that it didn't mater. The kiss deepened. It was fine, at first, and then Draco's lips started to tremble against hers.

He pulled away.

His eyes were bright with fire. His breath was staggered. His clothes and hair were matted in blood. The wound across his forehead was bleeding again. His lips were swollen. There were so many imperfections – but he still managed to look tempting.

"I…I don't know where that came from," Draco made clear, at a loss. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. I shouldn't even be – I just don't – I should have never –"

Hermione placed a hand over his mouth. Their eyes met. "Tell me something," she whispered to him. "How long have you wanted to do that?"

He inhaled, the moment her hand drifted from his lips, and stared between her big brown eyes with hesitation. He was afraid of something, but it wasn't the type of fear one would expect from him. It was…shyness.

Draco shifted his gaze to the ground. He laced his fingers through the long blades of grass, and took a moment to think. It felt as though an answer would never leave his lips, but then he glanced up and ignored all forms of logic. "Three months," he told her. "I've wanted to – I've wanted _you _– for three months."

The temperature in her body rose. Hermione took a deep, rousing breath, and watched as his eyes slowly traveled from hers, down her neck, to her breasts. It appeared as though he wanted to look away, but didn't. There was colour in his cheeks, as his gaze lingered there for longer than anticipated. She could see the struggle in his eyes, and gently placed her hand on his.

His eyes flicked up, just in time to watch as she leaned forward. The heat from her lips seared his flesh. She brushed her mouth over his left ear and spoke. "Kiss me again, Draco."

The way in which his muscles hardened against her made Hermione melt into a different realm of pleasure. His hands found her waist and hair. His lips found her neck. The brunette closed her eyes, releasing breathless moans into the cold, dark night. She had never been touched like that before. She had never been kissed like that before.

Draco separated, just for a moment, to catch some air. "I – I'm sorry for being jealous," he murmured, bringing her mouth to his. "I never knew I wanted you this bad."

"It's okay," she assured him, kissing back.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, sucking on her lips.

Hermione nodded once, dragging him towards her as she leaned back, onto the grass. "I want this," she said. "I want you. I want it all."

**A/N: Thanks for reading. More to come. Don't forget to leave a review. I need some feedback lol. **

**xo.**


	11. Chapter 11

Draco smoothed his hand along the inner curve of her waist. He used the other hand to support himself and tore grass straight from the ground with how hard he clenched his fist. His insides collected together in one reckless ball of energy, disciplined by the soft wisps of air that escaped from Hermione's lips. She drove him wild with anticipation. The things she did. The way she breathed. Everything.

He tilted his head down and massaged her lips with his. She moaned into the kiss, grabbing handfuls of his shirt from behind. It hurt, given the recent battle against William and Richard Forbes, but he didn't care. The pain was shrouded in pleasure. He started to wince and ended with an internal growl of pure, unadulterated longing.

The space between her legs grew wider and wider. Draco tried to hold out as long as possible, but the feeling of her lips combined with the vibration of her moans ripped every last shred of self-control from his being. Hermione broke away from their kiss and panted, as their bodies grazed together. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted. It was the single most erotic thing he had ever laid eyes on, and that was including his time with Leanne.

Hermione was just different. Everything about her was different.

She tugged on his bottom lip, pulling him down for another kiss. Draco obliged, brushing back her hair with his free hand and deepening their hot, wet, lust-filled interlude.

"D – Draco," she breathed, breaking away for some air. "Draco?"

* * *

Every inch of Hermione's body burned with desire. It almost hurt, to be so close for so long – to sleep right beside each other – and act like strangers. But every note in their forced partnership had changed, and all it took was the threat of separation. She had no idea how much she wanted this young man, until he came bursting through those doors and literally fought for her, and everything they had worked towards.

He wasn't the same Draco Malfoy she had grown to know and despise. It wasn't just the idea of losing him that made her heart ache with dread. It was the idea of causing him any more pain and suffering than he had already experienced.

That was when everything fell to pieces.

There was a hitch in her chest and she pulled away, watching as Draco rolled to the side with his eyes closed and a hand clasped over his left forearm. She quickly came to his aid and pushed back the hair on his forehead, forcing his eyes open.

"Draco – look at me," she demanded, holding his face with one hand on either side. "Look at me, damn it!"

His body started to shake. His eyes blinked open, only half-lidded, and there were tears caught in the corners. Something was happening to him, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with his wounds.

Hermione held back the rush of emotion that washed over her like a tidal wave, and focused. She glanced down, noticing the way his knuckles turned white from how hard he was clenching his forearm. The young woman took a deep, centering breath, and pried his hand away. It was like nothing she had ever seen before.

The Dark Mark was the deepest, most vivid shade of black it had ever been. The snake slithered around the skull and hissed at her, as though it were to jump from his skin and bite her in the neck at any given moment.

"Tell me what's happening!" she ordered. "Tell me!"

He opened his mouth, choking as the muscles along his neck constricted. The pain in his eyes was real. He had fought through worse and survived. But somewhere within the physical beating, there was pain of a different make.

"Please," Hermione panted, feeling teardrops fall from her eyelashes. She pressed their foreheads together, as an act of transferring her strength to him and waited. "Please, Draco."

A muffled string of words escaped his lips. It was difficult to make out against the shakes and sobs and chokes, but the message was there.

"I – I'm being s – summoned."

The pair of them locked eyes. Hermione held a hand to her mouth, and felt warm streams of liquid cascade down her face every time she blinked. "H – How?" she managed to ask, a look of horror dancing across her face.

Draco raised his hand and cupped her right cheek. It was obvious that even the simple action of doing so was draining him of whatever energy remained. "R – Run," he told her, crying heavy tears. "R – Run and d – don't l – look f – for me."

She shook her head, at a complete loss for words as he closed his eyes. The tension in his body vanished, in an almost unbelievable fashion, and the torn blades of grass around them raised approximately three feet from the ground. She reached for him, realizing what was happening.

"_NO_!" shouted the brunette, tugging at his arm. "_You can't – I won't let – There is no way – You – I – We –_"

Hermione's body went flying backwards, and the last thing she saw before Draco disappeared into the night, was a swirl of black smoke.

He was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

"Wake up!"

The young man took in a large convulsive breath from deep in his core, as droplets of water fell from the tips of his hair, chin, nose and eyelashes. He struggled to move, realizing then that his hands were bound above his head – in chains. There was strain in his arms and neck. His head bobbed low, no matter how hard he tried to look up. He was dangling from a tall, tall ceiling, and his insides burned in agony.

"Look at me," ordered a familiar voice. "We have much to discuss, Draco."

His eyelids weighed a ton. He gritted his teeth, forcing his head up whilst beholding the woman ahead. She was average in height – a little shorter than his mother – and had wild black hair that fell in spirals. Her thin lips curved into a maniacal smile…and right then…he knew her identity. She was, of course, none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

Draco felt his eyes burn from the sight of her. "You back-stabbing bitch," he spat, putting emphasis on the final word.

His aunt set down the bucket from which she had splashed ice-cold water on him. She didn't seem at all bothered by his choice of words. Instead, the leading female Death Eater conjured a chair in what appeared to be some sort of dungeon, and sat across from him. They were roughly six or seven feet apart, but the cold from her bones traveled all the way to his. She was no ally. She was a criminal – an enemy.

"The Dark Lord has granted me with the opportunity to keep watch over my nephew," she started, examining her long, sharp fingernails. "It has been a great honour to serve him and stay true to the cause."

"The cause for what?" he asked. "Murder?"

"Only those who deserve it," smiled Bellatrix, looking straight at him with that possessed look about her beady eyes. "I'm sure your lady friend will learn that soon enough."

Draco's muscles hardened. "You leave her out of this."

"I would love to, but I have unfinished business with Miss Mudblood." His aunt reflected on the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, wherein she had tortured Hermione Granger right in front of Draco. "She will experience a world of pain. I can promise you that."

"If you do so much as misplace one hair on her head, I will burn this place to the ground with you and everyone you love inside it," he threatened, overcome with anger and frustration. "I don't care if we share the same blood. You are nothing to me. You proved that on the night of my parents' murder."

The smile faded from Bellatrix's lips. "Your parents committed treason of the worst degree. They got what they deserved."

"That's what wrong with you. My parents were smart enough to see the error in their ways, but you…you'll serve the Dark Lord until your dying day, which by my calculations should be soon."

"Don't you understand?" she shrieked, sending nauseating vibrations through the damp air. "You are in chains, Draco. You have already lost. I have done my part in protecting you, but it is now your choice and it seems you have chosen _death_." It appeared to be one of the rare moments in which his aunt was speaking from her heart – no matter how dark and twisted it may have been.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the resentment. "So be it. I will die a good man."

Bellatrix reacted as if his words were drenched in poison. "You are not one of _them_," she told him firmly. "They will never accept you, and the reason for that is etched into your left forearm." The woman revealed her own marking, in the same place, as though the action of doing so were a salute between soldiers. "It is not in your blood to play the role of martyr."

"Then what is in my blood?" Draco asked. "Murder? Treachery? Sadism? Bigotry?"

"Darkness," she answered proudly. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

"That's bullshit," he retorted, thinking back to the many occasions in which he had been present whilst the Dark Lord delivered an address to his loyal followers. The half-blood tyrant told them tales of old – origin stories of their people and how magic had come to exist. "I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now."

"You will soon enough," Bellatrix said confidently. "It was nature's wish for you to fight for the dark side. You can't suppress what is true to your soul, not for long. Death finds traitors."

Draco allowed his aunt's words to absorb into his inner psyche. It can't have been a lost cause. "You're lying."

"Am I?" she proposed, twirling her wand in between her thumb and index finger. "Regulus, Lucius, Narcissa, Severus. What do they have in common?"

"The only reason they died is because they were fighting alone," Draco countered. "I am not alone."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Hermione Granger couldn't care less about you. She would watch you die a thousand deaths, if it brought back the boy she _truly_ _loved_."

"What do you know about love?" he asked directly.

His aunt smiled – hauntingly. "I know my sister loved her husband, and they are both dead as can be."

The young man centered himself, feeling the slow, creeping ache in his chest grow at the mention of his parents. Their demise would never fade from his memory – never. "It wasn't love that killed them. It was you."

"Do not speak words you fail to understand," Bellatrix advised. "I tried to protect Narcissa and Lucius, but they were in too deep. I mourned them for thirty days and thirty nights, as is custom."

"Really?" Draco asked, feigning interest. "Was the Dark Lord so gracious to allow that?"

"_The Dark Lord ordered me to have your head on a platter_!" she exclaimed, rushing to her feet and withdrawing her wand. "But I did what I could and _saved_ you. It would do you well to learn gratitude."

"Kill me," he challenged, hanging from the ceiling with his head low and his eyes tight as slits. "Point your wand at my head and by the strength of Merlin and all that is magic, give it your best bloody shot."

Bellatrix circled him, arm extended. "You are a madman. This Granger girl has manipulated you. _Can't you see that_?"

"Maybe she has," Draco offered. "But that still doesn't explain why you won't put me out of my misery." His words were chosen carefully, and his tone more so. "Then again…I'm sure we both know the reason behind that."

"Do explain, _Drakie_."

He found her glare, as she stopped in front of him. "Because, Aunt Bellatrix, the only one miserable here is you. That's why you haven't killed me. That's why you're holding me hostage. _You're alone_, and the only person you have to thank for that is _him_." Draco took a deep breath, feeling the strength return to his body. "There is no final prize for serving him true. What good is winning this war for him when all you'll have left is the ashes and splinters that remain?"

There was silence in the dungeon. Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak, but her nephew beat her to the chase.

"All hail the man who shattered his soul in fragments and painted his banners in the blood of innocents," the young wizard chanted, through his swollen, bloodied lips. "All hail Lord Voldemort."


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione glossed her hand over the doorknob. The room was in disarray. There was broken furniture scattered across the floor and blood on the walls. She had never seen a sight so gruesome since the war, and suddenly visions of her final days with Harry and Ron came crashing back. It had been one day since she thought of them – the longest she had gone since waking up.

Her eyes drifted to the bed, where she had once laid to rest with Draco by her side. He had disclosed information to her during their trek through the forest, regarding the villa and where it was. It had been difficult to find it amidst all the others, but once she had stepped foot in this particular one…it almost felt like home.

In the other room, she found pages spread across the desk. They were marked in his handwriting, and appeared to be some sort of memoir. The young woman took hold of the first bundle and sunk low to the hardwood floor, allowing herself passage into his soul.


	14. Chapter 14

Draco blinked his eyes open. The room was dark. The strain in his arms was ever present, but he was no longer in chains. Instead he was seated on a chair, in the middle of the dungeon, with his wrists and ankles bound by barbed wire. He winced from the pain, knowing this was only the beginning.

The door opened.

He glanced forward, and beheld the silhouette of someone other than his Aunt Bellatrix. "Draco?"

The fair-haired wizard squinted his eyes, able to distinguish his visitor only by the sound of her voice. He took a deep, unnerving breath. "It's been a long time," he struggled to say. "Parkinson."

His former flame revealed herself with the light from her wand. She looked older – not by age, but by experience. Her hair was still short and black, and she was still quite tall for a girl…but the difference in her demeanor was evident. She conjured a chair and pulled it close to him, taking a seat. Her eyes darted from his, and over the battle wounds across his face, neck and body.

"They told me you were here," she started, glancing back at him. "I know our friendship didn't end on the best terms, but I hope, as adults, we can move forward from that."

Draco choked out a laugh. "I'm strapped to a chair by barbed wire. I hardly think it's the time to make amends."

"It's never a bad time to make amends," Pansy said quickly, colour crossing her cheeks.

He narrowed his vision, knowing that look like the back of his hand. "Tell me what's going on. It's the least you could do after what happened."

"There's nothing you need to know. Not right now."

"They're going to kill me," Draco decided, monotone. "Aren't they?"

Pansy flashed him a look of alarm. "_Don't say that_."

"I'm not afraid of death, Parkinson. I would never have switched sides if I were still that same coward from Hogwarts." The conviction in his voice was clear as day. "How long do I have?"

"I'm not answering any questions," she resolved, fixing her gaze on the back wall. "It's too dangerous."

Draco stared at her for a long while. "You don't have to fear them. They're nothing without people like you and I to back them up."

"It's not them I fear."

"Oh, come on!" he jeered. "Don't tell me you believe in that origin story bollocks. It's fake, Parkinson. None of it is real. It's what they tell you to keep you in line."

"Is it fake?" she posed, gesturing to the blood on his shirt. "Look at you. If that isn't divine punishment for going against nature, I don't know what is."

The young man sighed. "Why are you even here?"

Pansy folded her arms across her chest. "I still care about you, you know? I heard what happened to you, and I had to see for myself."

"All right. You've had a look. Why are you still here?"

There was a strange emotion in her eyes. It wasn't quite curiosity or even affection. It did, however, look painfully familiar. "Is it true what they're saying about you and the Granger girl?"

Draco raised both eyebrows. "You're jealous?"

"_What_? No!" The witch rolled her eyes, murmuring something to herself before paying him any attention. "I meant about the Elder Wand. They told me you and Granger were looking for it."

"Hardly."

"It's no use, you know?" Pansy stared off into the distance. "I don't know the details, but there is a plan in motion." She took a deep breath. "I came here to warn you. Stay out of their way, and you might survive."

"I don't care about sur –"

"Listen to me!" she exclaimed, suddenly. There were actual tears in her eyes. There was a pause in their dialogue, in which she allowed herself to calm down. "All I'm going to say is that the Dark Lord could have summoned you any time he wanted, but he waited until a bond was formed between you and that girl."

Draco gathered the information. "You're saying he plans on using me to hurt her? I can fight the Imperius Curse. It won't be an issue."

"Just shut up already." Pansy shook her head slowly; weighed down by whatever scheme the others had planted into her mind. "This isn't some lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Draco. There is serious magic at play, magic even the Founders of Hogwarts wouldn't understand." She stared him dead in the eye and stood on both feet. "Take my advice, and push all thoughts of Granger from your mind." The sound of her designer heels scratching against the concrete floor echoed in the dungeon, as she turned to leave. "It's the only way she'll survive."


End file.
